#in fairness this book did also talk about Lydia

[fandomnsfw]

Pack Mom pt.2 - Derek Hale x Reader

Pairing: Derek x Reader

Prompt: Request! – Liam starts getting jealous when Isaac gets more attention than him, soon it becomes a competition between them that you decide to indulge in. (Also inspired by Woman – Honne.)

Warning: None! Just FLUFFFFF!

ENJOY!!

*****

“Isaac honey can you pass me the butter.” You muttered as you grabbed the bread from the cupboard.

“Okay Mama!” He smiled as he grabbed the butter from the fridge bouncing over to you as you grabbed a knife out the draw.

“Thank you baby.” You smiled at him softly ruffling his hair. You started buttering the bread placing different ingredients on each sandwich. Lydia and Erica had a BLT. Liam, Mason, Cory and Stiles had a PBJ and Derek, Isaac and Jackson all had plain cheese and ham. You had a peanut butter and Nutella fried, kind of like grilled cheese. When you were frying your sandwich you heard yelling start from the front room.

“No fair! It’s my turn!” Liam screeched.

“NO IT’S NOT!” Scott scoffed before you heard more shuffling.

“Ow don’t bite me!” Liam whined making you wince slightly.

“Actually I think it’s my turn.” Derek deadpanned as you heard more movement.

“Listen old man!” Jackson yelled angrily.

You switched off the hob before storming into the living room to see Scott, Liam, Jackson and Derek rolling around on the floor fighting over the Xbox controller. Your hand immediately went to your hips as you waited for them to notice you. Lydia was sat reading but she looked up to acknowledge you before going back to her book.

“DEREK!” You screamed eventually when you realized they weren’t going to notice you.

“Shit!” You heard him muttered before de-tangling himself from the boys.

“Scott get off your brothers!” You snapped as you tapped you bare foot against the floor. Once they were all stood in front of you, head down in an attempt not to test what patience you had left.

“Every time I start making food somehow you always seem to interrupt me by acting like morons!” You huffed angrily.

“The Xbox can go off now. Derek you can come pour me a glass of wine. Lord knows I need it. Scott you can finish the reading you have for school. Jackson how about you study for the maths test coming up. Ask Lydia for help if you need it. Liam you can come sit in the kitchen.” You ordered pointing at each one of them as you snapped your orders, Scott and Jackson groaned but did as they were told. You made you way back to the kitchen Liam following closely behind. You told him to sit at the breakfast bar while you got out the first aid kit. You wiped always the blood noticing the bite mark almost gone completely, which you were thankful for.

“Mama?” Liam murmured softly, a blush on his face.

“What baby?” You said as you threw the used antiseptic wipe in the bin.

“Can I have a hug?” He fiddle with the bottom of his shirt nervously as he waited for your response. You smiled but leaned over to hug him tightly. His head laying against your chest probably able to hear you heart beating. He hugged you back but the moment only lasted a few more seconds because you heard Isaac start talking.

“Mama I’m hungryyy.” He whined, a pout gracing his face. You pulled away from Liam and nodded before you went back to making food.

You glanced at Isaac and Liam as you went to turn the hob back on. You noticed that they were thoroughly glaring at each other which you thought was weird, shaking your head you chose the let it go.

After the pack has finished eating they went back to their houses, except Isaac who went upstairs to study, leaving you alone with Derek. You had college tomorrow but you didn’t feel like staying in your dorm with your overly happy roommate. You cuddled into Derek as he flipped through the films that were on the TV, his pick of film made you laugh. As much as he a Stiles bicker their love for Star Wars was always what had them chatting like they were best friends.

“I think you should move in with me.” Derek spoke after half an hour of silence through the film. You looked up at him shocked by the sudden statement, his eyes still glued on the TV like he felt embarrassed somehow.

“Oh really? Would you like to look at me and ask me instead of telling me?” You snorted, crossing your arms in playful anger.

“Y/N Y/L/N will you move in with me?” He huffed with false confidence as he gazed in your eyes.

“I would love to Derek. Now I need to sleep because I have class at 8. Night Der.” You muttered as you wandered up the stairs. You stopped at Isaac’s room to see him sprawled over his bed with his homework thrown everywhere which made you smile to yourself. You carefully moved the papers to his computer desk and threw his covers over him, brushing his curly hair away from his face. After making sure he was okay, you went to yours and Derek’s shared bedroom getting dressed into one on Derek’s tops before getting into bed.

*****

“Isaac breakfasts ready!” You screamed up the stairs as you checked the time once again. Isaac ran down stairs dressed and ready for school. He kissed your cheek before he sat down next to you digging into his breakfast.

“Thank you Mama.” He said with half of a piece of bacon hanging out his mouth.

“Isaac don’t talk with your mouthful. It’s rude.” You instructed your voice soft yet stern. He nodded and continued chewing his food before you realized it was already 7.30am. You got up and kissed Derek on the cheek, who was sat silently with a coffee in his hand. Isaac followed closely behind hoping into the passenger seat.

“I need to talk to Derek about getting you a car or a bike.” You muttered as the pulled away from the Hale house.

“I don’t need a car mama I’m fine.” Isaac whispered slowly like he was worried about how Derek would react.

“Yes you do and don’t argue with me. Derek will agree too. Everyone else has a way to get around so which would you prefer bike or car?”

“Mama I do-”

“I think a bike since you love riding with Scott.” You interrupted before he could reject the offer again. After that you and Isaac chose to stay quiet for the rest of the time in the car. When you arrived at Beacon Hills High School you got out the car to greet the pack which was making their way over to your car.

“Ma-Y/N shouldn’t you be at college?” Scott voiced as they stopped in front of you.

“I’m going after this. Derek said he would drop him off but it’s on my way so I thought I’d do it today. Plus I have some good news.” You stated before ruffling Liam’s hair which made him preen.

“I’m moving in full time with Derek.” You added after pulling your hand away from Liam.

“That’s awesome!!” Erica screeched making Stiles roll his eyes.

“Right I’ve gotta go. Liam be good everyone else looking after him and make sure you don’t fight. You know it may seem like play fighting to werewolves but to humans it looks brutal and I’m not dealing with another call from Natalie telling me you’ve earned yourself detention for 2 weeks!”

“Yes Mom.” They are voiced sarcastically.

*****

When everyone came over for dinner that night it wasn’t just the pack but also the parents, who had yet to find out about your new name. It happened when you were helping Melissa cook while the Sheriff, Chris and Derek sat around the breakfast bar chatting away.

“JACKSON GIVE IT BACK! MAMA!!!!” Stiles screamed as he chased Jackson into the kitchen. Everyone stopped to stare at you but you paid no mind.

“JACKSON! Put that down before I take away your new phone!” You yelled as you stirred the chicken pieces around the wok.

“What you didn’t buy that though!!” Jackson screamed angrily his foot stomping angrily.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You responded, your tone calm with a sickly sweet smile joining as you turned to look at him.

“I mean! I’m sorry Stiles here’s your comic book and I love you Mama!” He replied in a rushed way that made you smirk.

“That’s what I thought now, boy’s front room I don’t wanna tell you twice.” You added as you watched the boys bicker as they walked into the front room. You turned your attentions to the 3 sets or wide eyes staring at you, realizing what you had done you blushed and picked up your glass of wine.

“I think we should leave the kids here and go into early retirement.” Noah snorted making Derek go deathly pale.

“So your pack mom now?” Chris added nodding in agreement as he did, you nodded before going back to food. Once dinner was ready you all moved to the dining room to sit down but then just like every aspect of your life turned into another argument.

“But you always sit next to Mama I wanna sit next to her today!” Liam whined his bottom lip sticking out slightly.

“No it’s my seat pipsqueak.” Isaac mocked as he made his way to the seat.

“Isaac you can sit next to Melissa.” Your voice made no room for arguments with made everyone stop awkwardly.

“Bu-”

“Isaac.” Was all Derek said as everyone finally started to situate themselves.

During dinner everything was full of chatter and laughs except Isaac who sat there pushing his food around his plate aimlessly. You knew what was happening Isaac had been the baby of the pack for years until Liam came along. You could tell he was jealous and they were competing but you also knew that you loved everyone in this pack equally, well except Peter because he’s a maniac and Derek who is possibly the love of your life.

You knew Isaac felt left out but he had to learn you weren’t just his. After dinner you started cleaning up but Chris and Noah quickly took over saying that you and Melissa should rest, so you did. As soon as you sat down Liam began speaking to you.

“Mama would you like a drink?” He asked hopefully.

“I can rub your feet if you want?” Isaac tried to interrupt.

“I could put on your favorite film if you want.” Liam grit his teeth as he smiled, as if trying to control his anger.

“Boys just sit down.” You groaned before flopping onto Derek’s chest.

That night the entire pack stayed over, the big house full of giggles and teasing but what got you the most was every 5 minutes Liam and Isaac asked if you wanted anything or tried to get your attention. By the time it was midnight you had enough of the bickering so you told everyone to sit down and watch a film or they could go to their own rooms. Thankfully they listened.

“Mama would you like some popcorn?” Liam asked gently as the movie got to about half way through.

“Mama doesn’t like salted popcorn.” Isaac snickered making you pause the film and tell Erica to turn the light on.

“Right I’ve had enough of this competing! I am not a toy that you can fight over nor am I everyone’s favorite lamppost to piss up!” You screamed angrily as you threw the remote controller onto the couch.

“I love you all equally! You are all my baby’s in some way! If you had two babies would you love them differently?” You added, your arms crossing over your chest as you tried to maintain calm.

“No.” Isaac muttered, his cheeks glowing red.

“Well then don’t expect that from me! I love you all the exact same amount!” You huffed before hearing Derek re-enter the living room. Everyone was staring at you with sad eyes but you knew it was because they all felt bad.

After everyone had gone to bed you and Derek made your way up to your bed room changing into one of Derek’s tops before sliding into bed with a sigh. Derek got in without a word kissing you passionately which made you squeak in surprise. One he pulled back he smiled down at you lovingly his thumb tracing circles on your cheeks.

“Thank you for being the best Pack Mom ever.” He whispered gently, his hands making their way into your hair.

That’s night Derek made love to you over and over again his love pouring out over and over until you were overloaded with his feelings.

This man is the love of your life and he gave you everything you ever wanted.

A family.

Part 1 <- -> Part 3(fin)

#fluff #derek hale x reader #derek hale #derek hale x you #derek hale imagine #request #derek hale fluff #pack mom reader #reader insert #reader #teen wolf #tw #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fluff #hale pack #the hale pack #derek #hale

[weirdgirlshowdown]

In my mind these characters are not taking this competition seriously and most of them are spending this first voting week making friends (or allies in the case of those like Mandy who don’t do “friends”) and whoever gets left behind in the first round will be cheering for whoever they went up against in future rounds. Part of this is just their personalities (Webby could become friends with anyone) but also part of this is just how many of these brackets I could see being besties.

Kuki and Goo would totally talk Rainbow Monkeys and Imaginary Friends together. Webby and Dot would just be having cartoon logic antics. Maya and Coraline would go out for burgers and discuss weird worlds and spirits. Gaz and Mandy would discuss alien invasion strategies. Matilda and Lisa being weird book girls. Mabel and Lilo enjoying talking Space and all their adventures.

Heck, I know you said you just put them together because similar names, but I can see Giulia and Ghoulia bonding over fish-people friends (Plus, Ghoulia is definitely more of a quiet type that enjoys spending time with high-energy mile-a-minute personalities like Giulia). And last but certainly not least (the duo that got me on this rant), Wednesday and Lydia would bond over all things creepy and kooky (I’ve actually seen them as a fairly popular ship).

Basically, while I don’t know enough about all of them to know for sure, the ones that I do know both halves of, you did so well at trying to make it a fair fight/similar dynamics that I think if this was like an actual event in an arena instead of just a bunch of polls on Tumblr, you would’ve set up cross-dimensional best friends forever.

I know you’ve been getting a lot of flack for them being too uneven or “How am I supposed to choose?” so I thought I’d let you know that I think you did a great job at creating some interesting match-ups, and I hope fans can get along as well as I imagine the characters would, no matter who wins ;)

aw lol thanks! this is all really cute ^^ and i'm glad people like the matchups even if it makes some upset at having to choose eheh

[tmbgareok]

Q&A: They Might Be Giants Aren’t Just for Kids and Still Aren’t the Proclaimers by Marc Spitz, Vanity Fair July 14, 2011

For almost 30 years, They Might Be Giants (John Flansburgh and John Linnell) have been releasing music that’s both snarky and sweet, morbid and whimsical, a little pop and a little avant-garde. Beginning in 2002, with the enhanced CD and book No!, they applied their sensibility to a trilogy of albums geared toward children. The shocking success of these (2005’s Here Come the ABCs went gold; 2008’s Here Come the 123s won a Grammy; 2009’s Here Comes Science was nominated) threatened to upstage everything else they did. The new album Join Us marks a return to their classic sound. While playful (the song “Cloisonne” features a singing raindrop), it is strictly for grown-ups. Here John Flansburgh (bespectacled John) discusses the band’s early years in Lower Manhattan, their struggle to win and keep casual fans, and why they’re not going to be walking 500 miles anytime soon. ___

Marc Spitz: They Might Be Giants came out of a downtown New York scene in the 80s that was very fashion friendly. And yet you weren’t embraced by that crowd in the same way as other bands were. It that because you were funny?

John Flansburgh: The thing about any scene is that it’s very hard to sum up for somebody who doesn’t know the scene. The constellations of things that are deemed to fit in or not fit in are just dictated by the people making the scene. We would play the Pyramid Club but we were considered the “rock band.” We were the nice boys who had the rock band. Half the acts that played the Pyramid Club were transvestites and they were also all on heroin so . . .

Marc Spitz: And you weren’t transvestites on heroin.

John Flansburgh: We weren’t transvestites on heroin. Even though we played with a drum machine. In the early days there was a lot more screaming in our shows. There was a histrionic quality to what we did. We started a couple of years after the No Wave movement, bands like DNA and Lydia Lunch. We were part of the first bunch of bands after that movement.

Marc Spitz: There were a couple of recent films about that period, one called Kill Your Idols and more recently, Blank City, which is about the cinema of the era. If you look at the commentators in both movies they’re still so put together. The hair and cheekbones thing. Like a New York City cartoon.

John Flansburgh: There was no mistaking what city you were in. And there was no end to the ambition of the people involved in it—people striving to be as original as they can possibly be. A lot of times people are just thinking about how to fit in. The East Village in the mid-80s was dominated by people thinking, What’s the most fucked-up thing I can do that won’t burn down the venue down. It was very much about phenomenon and causing an instant splash.

Marc Spitz: You and John (Linnell) have now built up a very successful career making records for children. My little niece loves them. Join Us opens with a lyric about a “town full of dicks” and contains a song titled “When Will You Die?” It seems almost reactionary, a signal that you’re back in adult-album mode. Are you?

John Flansburgh: I think we could have had a song on our first album called “When Will You Die?” Talking about death imagery in a very casual way is very They Might Be Giants.

Marc Spitz: Well this new one does seem like a classic TMBG record. Almost a reward for fans without children who may not listen to both sides of your output.

John Flansburgh: We just sort of institutionally split the two audiences from each other the second the kids’ stuff took off. We weren’t trying to figure out how to have a mixed career. Part of it was necessity. We were still playing clubs that might not have accommodations for people under 18. We had to tell people, “This is not for kids,” and be very clear about keeping them separate. If you like TMBG in general you’ll probably find pleasant things in the kids’ stuff. It’s very full-blooded. It’s not some reduced version of what we do.

Marc Spitz: I would imagine you could listen to both.

John Flansburgh: Conceivably you could. We don’t ask people to or expect people to.

Marc Spitz: Do you approach the songwriting differently?

John Flansburgh: That’s a very good question with a very complicated answer. I can tell you what the challenges are. Kids have the patience of a bug. You have to get their attention, and writing a song that’s immediate enough to capture their imagination is very demanding. It’s been difficult to turn away from [the children’s records]. Overnight we had a career as big as the one we’d been working on for 15 years. The truth of the matter is we’ve been chained to the kinder-rock desk for a couple of years now and we’re happy to get back to our roots. This is a kind of crucial time for us as a band - we really need to plant our freak flag in the ground and just be. We need to declare our independence a little bit, professionally. The kids’ stuff is interesting but it also has a sort of governor on it in terms of the kind of writing that we do. We love the things that we’ve made as a band.

Marc Spitz: They Might Be Giants is almost beyond a band. If someone says, “I’m a They Might Be Giants fan,” it often means something beyond one’s taste in music. Not that you don’t have any casual fans . . .

John Flansburgh: Our biggest professional aspiration is to have casual fans. If you’re doing something good, it shouldn’t be a cult thing. Being a cult implies some level of artistic failure. If it’s popular music you should enjoy it for what it is. When we played Bonnaroo, we had this little backstage area. We’re changing out of our sweaty clothes and there’s this knock at the door and a crazy drunk lady who somehow got backstage says, “I just gotta talk to you. I love you guys. I just gotta tell you I’ve been listening to your music my entire life. You’re my favorite band. I just wanna thank you. “500 Miles” got me through college.” And I’m like “500 Miles?” Then I realized she thought we were The Proclaimers.

___

Read the article on the Vanity Fair site here: https://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2011/07/they-might-be-giants-qa

#They Might Be Giants #TMBG #Vanity Fair #Q&A

[briankeene]

The Greatest Show On Earth

Someone asked me the other day what's the most fun I've ever had working on a project, and what was the most rewarding. That's a tough question to answer. There have been novels that were absolutely fun (with bold italics) to write -- EARTHWORM GODS, THE COMPLEX, and the various CLICKERS books immediately come to mind. Certainly, the most I've ever laughed while working on a project was when Jesus and I would try to one-up each other with the CLICKERS books.

But for an overall combination of Fun and Rewarding? I'd have to go with SILVERWOOD: THE DOOR.

In 2018, I was approached by Serial Box (now Realm Media) -- a producer of audio dramas. They'd just obtained licensing deals for a number of media properties, including Orphan Black and Tony Valenzuela's Silverwood. I'd enjoyed the first two seasons of Blackbox TV’s Silverwood -- they were pioneering as far as made-for-YouTube original horror content went. So when Lydia Shamah (now Director of Original Content Scripted Drama at Audible, but then with Realm) asked if I'd be interested in serving as showrunner and head writer on a new Silverwood series, I immediately said yes. 

Then I contacted a bunch of friends who had actually served as showrunners on various television and audio series, and I said, "Hey, I just signed a deal to be a showrunner, and I should probably find out what that actually is and what I've gotten myself into." And so I got a crash course from some of the best in the business.

The first thing I did was come up with an overall concept for what would effectively be season 3 of Silverwood. It had to be respectful of the continuity of the previous Blackbox TV series, and wrap up some plotlines from those. But it also had to be readily accessible to people who had never watched Silverwood and weren't at all familiar with the show. I also wanted to run the gamut, as far as the horror genre went. The first two seasons of Silverwood had lent themselves to cosmic horror, extreme horror, slashers, quiet horror, bizarro and more. I wanted a plot that encompassed all of those things. When I had that, Lydia and I ran it by Tony and then by her bosses at Realm. And once it was approved, we started putting together the team.

Throughout this initial process, I really enjoyed working with Lydia, and it remained that way throughout the rest of the production. To this day, she remains one of the best editors I've ever had the pleasure of working with, and she's a big part of why Audible's original scripted shows are doing so well. Tony was great, as well. Protective of his I.P., which he absolutely should be, but gracious and supportive and enthusiastic of what I wanted to do with it.

For the writing team, I was allowed to have three writers in addition to myself. I decided that the fair way to do it was to tap one veteran, one up-and-comer, and one talented newbie who needed a big break. 

The up-and-comer was an easy choice. Stephen Kozeniewski was already making a stir in science-fiction and horror circles by then, and his stuff was firmly played in both of those genres -- something which was crucial to the pitch I'd developed. Furthermore, he had a good sense of corporate and business pathos, irony, and culture. (Everybody talks about the influence of Alien on his novel The Hematophages, but I'd argue that Office Space is the bigger influence on that book). And since one of the plotlines I'd pitched involved a group of office employees on a company retreat, I knew he'd be able to deliver on those characters and their stories.

The veteran was a hard pick. Lydia and I both came up with wish-lists, and then we narrowed it down. She suggested that, since I'd known him twenty years at that point, Richard Chizmar might be a good pick. I agreed that Rich would be great, but I had my doubts as to whether or not he'd do it. Those of us who know Rich personally know that he is absolutely all about his family. He dotes on them and is devoted to them, and he is disinclined to get involved in anything that will take time away from them. He's also, like myself, a creature of strict work routines. For him to abandon the comfort and familiarity of the Cemetery Dance office, and take a week away from his family to go sit in a writers room in either New York or Los Angeles? I didn't think he'd go for it.

Until he did. He was noncommittal at first, but after his family and Mindy and Brian at Cemetery Dance convinced him this would be a good career move, he joined the team. As he said, "I guess it can't be too bad if I've got Keene watching my back."

Now we had to pick a newbie. I knew that I wanted a woman, and I knew that I wanted someone who could alternate between extreme horror and quiet horror, often within the same episode. I finally settled on Michelle Garza and Melissa Lason, aka The Sisters of Slaughter. There was just one problem. I was only allowed one more writer, and they were a pair. So, Lydia and I went to the higher ups at Realm and said, "They're called the Sisters of Slaughter. You can't just hire one sister. You have to hire the pair".

And thus, the dream team was assembled.

What came next was the writers retreat -- what was supposed to be a week spent with all of us gathered together in a conference room in either New York City or Los Angeles, brainstorming and coming up with our characters and the plots of the individual episodes and such. Once again, Lydia came through for us. The Sisters both had young children at home, and they couldn't just up and leave them for a week. So Lydia convinced her bosses to rent us an Airbnb in the Sisters hometown in Arizona. 

That week remains probably the single most fun and rewarding experience I've ever had working on anything. As I said, the CLICKERS series was always fun, but Jesus and I weren’t shooting for anything more than blowing off some steam with those books. SILVERWOOD: THE DOOR was a different kind of animal. We had things to say. The creative energy inside that Airbnb is impossible to describe. It was absolutely magical. We lived together in close quarters for a week (the Sisters went home to their families at the end of each day). Every morning, we woke up and had coffee and sat around a big conference table -- me, the Sisters, Stephen, Rich, Tony, and Lydia. We hammered out everything -- every character, every plotline, every episode -- the works. Tony contributed his knowledge as the creator of the Silverwood universe, and he was so gracious and excited and kind. Lydia contributed editorial notes, and let us know what was possible with audio -- a format that none of us had ever written for before that. She was our guide, opening us up to all kinds of possibilities that we wouldn't have thought of, otherwise. I served as showrunner, jotting down everyone's contributions onto sticky notes and placing them all around the room. And by the end of the week, those sticky notes formed a season long narrative -- a living, breathing story. It was fucking magic.

It occurs to me now, looking at these photos -- we were in Arizona for a week, and it was scorching hot, and that Airbnb had a private swimming pool in the back, and we didn't use it at all that week. Not once. That's how much fun we were having. 

Mostly, we stayed on site for the week. But we did go out to eat as a group, and see a bit of the town, and have a few drinks at the local bars. And Paul Goblirsch of Thunderstorm Books visited us a few times and hung out. And there was a whole side misadventure with Rich and the home's Alexa A.I. assistant (Kozeniewski and I often refer back to that when trying to make each other laugh) . But the vast majority of our time was spent communing together, and being creative together, and basking in that wonderful group energy, and I've got to tell you -- it's very hard to go back home to your life when you've been basting in that sort of incubator for a week. 

Back in Pennsylvania, I transferred all of our post it notes around the kitchen, and for the next month, Mary was constantly plucking them out of the sink, the cat bowl, and various things cooking on the stove. Then I got to work on writing the show bible -- a long, in-depth document that outlines the entire season's overarching plot, the plot of the individual episodes, the characters, their biographies, etc. I then wrote the pilot episode, and the team began writing their episodes, and I also wrote episode eight and the season finale, and then we went through many rounds of revisions and rewrites (because that is going to happen in episodic media work like this, just as it does in television, comic books, video games, etc). Eventually, Tony signed off on everything and Realm signed off on everything, and the next stage of production -- the audio narration -- began.

Here is what the kitchen looked like during that time. Photos by me.

I remain extremely proud of the work we did together on SILVERWOOD: THE DOOR. I believe it is some of the best writing any of us have ever done. I absolutely think it's some of my own best writing, particularly the burn victim in the finale, and the father-daughter main characters and their struggles with her OCD. That stuff was extremely personal for me. And that is part of the reason why it was such a satisfying and rewarding experience. It’s also scary as hell.

Sadly, although we left it open and set it up for a season four, nothing further was ever greenlit. Eventually, Lydia moved on to Audible, and Tony moved on to new horizons with Blackbox TV, and Rich, Stephen, Michelle, Melissa and I went back to writing books. The five of us ended up writing for Realm again with EXQUISITE CORPSE, and I wrote for the company again with NOT ALONE and THOR: METAL GODS. But none of those projects ever quite recaptured the magic and energy of that SILVERWOOD: THE DOOR creative retreat. I think for NOT ALONE and EXQUISITE CORPSE that's because they happened during the pandemic, and it was impossible to get everyone together. And THOR: METAL GODS was initially soured by a fly in the ointment, who luckily, wasn't involved in the final product or final drafts. Sure, it was fun to play with Thor and other Marvel characters, but that's all it was -- fun. Playing with Tony's characters and with Silverwood? That wasn't just fun. It was rewarding. It was a rare kind of magic that I wish I encountered more often in this job, and it was done alongside the best creative team I could have ever hoped to work with. They were a joy, each and every one of them. 

While it lasted, it was the greatest show on Earth.

SILVERWOOD: THE DOOR is available in the following formats.

eBook: Publisher - Kindle -  Nook - Kobo - Apple

Audiobook: Publisher - Audible - Apple 

[plus-size-reader]

Cute

Void/Stiles Stilinski x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2939 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader finally gets up the courage to tell Stiles about her feelings for him but Stiles isn’t really himself at the time. 

—————————————————————————————————

You should have seen this coming.

Of course Stiles was never going to go for a girl like you. All your lives he had been absolutely obsessed with Lydia Martin and lord knows you looked nothing like her. You were never going to look anything like her, but it was easy to ignore when it was just her.

Stiles had always liked her, drooling over her in math class and talking about her every chance he got but you both knew he had about as much of a chance with her as you did with him.

It wasn’t going to happen.

...but now he had Malia.

She was just as thin and gorgeous as Lydia was, but she was actually into him. She wanted to go out with him and there was nothing stopping them from going for it, why would there be?

It wasn’t like Stiles had any clue that you had been in love with him since middle school or that you were actively more and more in love with him as time went on.

He didn’t know you thought about him as much as he thought about them, or beat yourself up because you were never going to be a size three like Lydia was.

You adored him, but he was never going to see that.

It made you feel so empty, like the last seven years didn’t mean anything to him which wasn’t even close to true. You knew that both Scott and Stiles cared a lot for you, like they cared for each other but it wasn’t enough.

You wanted Stiles to daydream about you, to see you, because you were right in front of him. You would have done anything for him, and did, but for some reason, it was still like you didn’t exist.

It was getting old.

Really old, and the more you thought about it, the more the reality of the situation upset you. You had been there for Stiles all his life.

You were right by his side when his mom got sick, and beat up Jackson Whittemore once in the eighth grade for calling him a geek, but none of that seemed to matter to him.

Stiles still couldn’t see you.

“You’ve been staring at them for thirty minutes” Scott hummed, shaking you out of your thoughts with a bump to your shoulder with his own. You were searching for anything that could explain the strange occurrences around here as of late, but there was nothing.

It wasn’t your fault watching Stiles canoodle with his new girlfriend was more entertaining than looking through some dusty old book.

“I have not” you sighed, shooting him an almost defensive look as you glanced back down at the book in question. Had he been anyone else you may have pretended to have your shit together, but Scott knew better.

He knew the two of you better than anyone else in the world, and even if he wasn’t the true alpha, which he also happened to be, it wasn’t hard to see what was going on.

You clearly liked him, in a way that wasn’t just platonic like your relationship was. You had never gotten so shook up when Scott was seeing a girl, he would have noticed.

“It’s okay, I get it” he tried, hoping that you weren’t going to try and shut him out over this again. Scott had tried to have this conversation with you a few times already, and it never worked out the way he wanted.

You always got cagey and didn’t want to talk about it.

“No you don’t, Scott. You’ve dated every girl you ever had a crush on, because you’re you” you grumbled, poking him in the abs as aggressively as you could without hurting him to prove your point.

He didn’t ever have to worry about the things you did.

Not only was Scott one of the sweetest and most brave men you’d ever known, but he also couldn’t have been in better shape if he wanted to. He looked like one of those perfectly sculpted men in the movies, with six pack abs and chiseled muscles.

It wasn’t like he constantly had to live with the knowledge that the person he loved most in this world didn’t love him back because he wasn’t good enough. You knew that Stiles didn’t feel the same way about you because you weren’t as skinny as you could have been, or as pretty as the others were.

At this point, you doubted he even saw you as a girl at all because you were just his best friend, and that was it. That was what you’d always been and considering how oblivious he was to the feelings you had for him, it wasn’t surprising.

You weren’t even on his radar in that way.

“First of all, ow! Second of all, you’re super cute, why wouldn’t he be into you?” Scott wondered, that same supportive, loving tone that was always in his voice making itself known to you. He really did believe that, not that it made you feel better.

Cute.

That was all you were ever going to be.

Puppies were cute, and everyone loved them but no one was actively dreaming of taking their favorite puppy out on a date or dreaming about a puppy out loud to their friends. You didn’t date someone just because they were cute, which was the whole problem.

You didn’t want to be cute.

You wanted to be beautiful, to be hot, to be drop dead gorgeous in the way that Lydia was, and it killed you every day that you weren’t.

“Thanks Scott, but I don’t think cute is gonna cut it” you decided, closing the book in front of you as a way of closing this conversation before getting up and heading out of the library.

It didn’t make any sense to Scott.

It was clear to him that you and Stiles had something that could very well be a great relationship but you kept getting in your own way and it wasn’t like Stiles knew what he was doing. 

Some days, Scott worried he’d leave his head at home if it wasn’t attached.

“Hey Y/N, think about it” he called, catching the way you turned around to look at him before heading out to the parking lot.

There was no way Stiles was going to come to the conclusion that you cared about him as anything more than a friend on his own, and until you got that push to do it yourself, it wasn’t going to happen.

He just had to wait for one or both of you to take that chance.

~

Scott had a point.

Of course he did, Scott usually had a point as much as you hated to admit it. You were super cute, and while it might not have been enough, there really weren’t that many reasons why Stiles wouldn’t be into you.

Now, all you had to do was figure out what you were going to do about it, before all desire to do so left your body completely if it hadn’t already. 

You had only been trying to sike yourself up about this for the past hour in the rear view mirror and it just wasn’t happening.

You felt like an idiot.

Here you were, sitting across the street from Stiles’ house like a creep, without a single idea of what you were actually going to say to him if you ever made it to his front door. It didn’t make any sense, this was a guy you’d known since you were a kid.

You had never had a problem saying anything to him or doing whatever you wanted, but now, the idea of even looking him in the face was enough to make you want to be sick. It was hardly fair but you had done this to yourself after all.

It was perfectly fine before, even if you were unhappy. No one else had to know that you had feelings for him and you could just suffer in silence but now that you had Scott in your corner, it was hard not to want to try.

Surely your shared best friend was the best authority on whether or not there was anything between you and Stiles. If anyone was going to know anything, it was the true alpha, after all. 

That was like, his whole thing.

“You can do this. You’ve fought monsters, this is just Stiles” you reminded yourself, before pushing the mirror away completely, getting out of the car before you could buckle back up and drive home. It was now or never, and whatever happens, happens.

You couldn’t worry about it now.

“Hey Stiles, are you feeling better?” you hummed, the words barely registering under your breath as you tried to figure out what you wanted to say. You’d had this nightmare a million times over but you’d never actually considered doing it on your own.

Now that you were, the words just weren’t coming to you like they should have been.

“I just had something I wanted to run by you” you tried, testing out how that would sound before immediately scrapping it. That sounded like you were making some kind of business proposal and you certainly weren’t.

It had to be perfect.

Not that you had time to actually nail down what you wanted to say before you found yourself at his front door, already having knocked out of habit. Again, you briefly considered sprinting back to your car before it opened but you couldn’t make your feet move.

You knew that you had to do this.

“Hey Stiles, I was hoping we could talk” the words left your lips before you could police them, as soon as the door opened. You knew that it was hardly the smoothest you could have been but at this point, there was nothing between the two of you to soften the blow.

You just had to get this over with. If he accepted your feelings, he accepted them but if he didn’t, there was nothing you could do to change that either.

Naturally, those words freaked Stiles out a little because he assumed something terrible had happened but you didn’t seem as panicked as you should have been if someone was dying. This was a little more than your usual high strung but not by much.

“Yeah for sure, are you okay?” he allowed, moving away from the doorframe to let you in before closing the door behind you both. His dad was working late again, so it would just be the two of you but that had never been a problem before.

Especially lately, you and Stiles had killed time on several nights when Scott was busy with the pack or on date night. It wasn’t strange for you to be alone together, normally but there was a strange air about it today.

You just couldn’t tell if it was coming from him or you.

You knew that Stiles had been having a little trouble sleeping lately, and the nightmares were driving him crazy but the pack was going to handle it. 

The pack always took care of those kinds of things and you both knew Scott wasn’t going to let anything happen to him.

All he had to do was wait it out and try to relax in the meantime.

…And of course, you were having a hard time being your calm and collected self as you tried to figure out the best way to go about this whole thing.

It wasn’t every day you confessed your feelings to your best friend after all.

“I’m alright, I just have something I want to talk to you about is all” you shrugged, sitting down on the couch. This was a lot harder to do than you could have ever thought, and it just seemed like it wasn’t going anywhere.

There was only so much stalling you could do before you had to tell him the truth.

“Okay, I guess I’m just gonna put it all out there,” you sighed, your hands falling on your thighs. This was your last chance to walk away and no one would ever have to know what it was you were hiding, and that almost seemed like the right thing to do.

Though, the way he was looking at you took that all away.

You knew that if you ever had a chance at being with him in the way you wanted, you had to be able to tell him how you felt, at the very least.

Here goes nothing.

“I’m in love-with you” you allowed, exhaling as if you’d been holding that in your lungs all this time, which you pretty much had. You had no idea how this was supposed to feel, but you were pretty confident it wasn’t like this.

He didn’t even say anything at first.

All you could see was Stiles rubbing his temple out of the corner of your eye, his eyes screwed shut. It was hardly the reaction you had been expecting but at that moment, it didn’t even matter. You knew what he’d been going through, and it worried you.

It always worried you, especially knowing about his mom and all the stress he’d been under lately. 

Needless to say, you were more than happy to forget about everything you’d just said in favor of making sure he was alright, especially if your words had upset him.

If he didn’t feel the same, you would have happily moved on as if this moment had never happened. It would be easier than having to swallow that rejection.

You didn’t know if you could handle that after all this.

You had been hiding your feelings for Stiles all this time, and now that you said it out loud, you hoped you’d feel better but you just didn’t. This whole thing was really starting to seem like a mistake, and you didn’t even know everything yet.

Neither did Stiles.

In reality, he was more than thrilled at your confession but something was wrong. He felt like he wasn’t in control, like he wasn’t even in his own body anymore. It didn’t make any sense but he had never had a feeling like this before.

Stiles was vulnerable.

Before this moment, the Nogitsune hadn’t been able to break through to the surface but you provided the crack in his armor that it needed to escape. It was perfect, at least for the void, it certainly wasn't going to be pleasant for you.

After all, it had been a long time since it had seen the light of day and it was hungry, hungry and wearing your little lover boy like a cheap Halloween costume. Of course it was going to use that against you, void would be an idiot not to.

Your love for the boy made you little more than an exposed nerve, one that the Nogitsune could poke and prod at all it pleased until it was satisfied.

...and it certainly intended to.

All at once, there was a huge change in the room between the two of you, and more specifically, in Stiles. 

There was a cold, darkness to him that you had never seen which you didn’t even realize was there until he started laughing, a deep chuckle leaving his throat.

You weren’t ready for it, but what you were less ready for was what happened when he spoke.

“Did you really think I could ever feel like that, for you? We both know that’s a little crazy” he scoffed, an almost mocking tone that didn’t sound like Stiles at all. It shocked you, in all honesty, but not for the reason you may have thought.

Deep down, you knew that Stiles wouldn’t be interested in you but you never could have imagined him being so aggressive and cruel in his rejection of you.

He’d never spoken to anyone like that before, especially not you.

“I just-” you tried, but he stopped you before you could even try to get through this whole thing with any dignity at all. For the Nogitsune, this was all fun and games, but for you, it was so much more than that.

This was quite possibly the worst moment of your life.

“You aren’t blind, you had to have known this wasn’t going to work out the way you wanted. I mean, look at you?”

Stiles was screaming, using everything he had to try and get through to you, to overpower whatever this thing in his head was, but he couldn’t make it happen. It was too much, too strong, and all he could do was sit back and let it happen.

He knew it was breaking your heart, he could see it in your face but no matter how hard he fought, there was nothing he could do to get back in control. He felt like he was locked in a cage in his own head, and someone else had the key.

He just didn't know who.

You sat there for a second more as you tried to process whatever it was that was happening right now before you felt tears pricking in the corner of your eyes, and decided that it was probably time to leave.

Staying here any longer was just going to make this worse. Besides, it wasn’t as if Stiles was in the mood to talk this out or even treat you like a person.

Clearly, Scott was wrong, being cute wasn’t enough to make someone care about you.

#stiles #void stiles #stiles stilinski #mieczyslaw stilinski #teen wolf #tw #stiles x reader #stiles x ps reader #stiles x plus size reader #stiles imagine #void stiles x reader #void stiles x ps reader #void stiles x plus size reader #void stiles imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x ps reader #stiles stilinski x plus size reader #stiles stilinski imagine #mieczyslaw stiles stilinski #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x ps reader #teen wolf x plus size reader #teen wolf imagine #tw x reader #tw x ps reader #tw x plus size reader #tw imagine

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 67: No More Room In Hell

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 9 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: scary situation, violence, blood and gore, mild swearing, character death ❧ Word Count: 6.7k

❧ In This Chapter: The fair at the Kingdom begins as leaders of the communities discuss what is to be done with Lydia and the "skins." When it is decided to send out a group to take more soldiers to the Hilltop, Reader and Daryl volunteer, only to have another nasty run-in with the woman known as Alpha. The price to pay for taking in Lydia is greater than anyone ever thought.

❧ A/N: Ugh, I love this chapter! I mean, I don't like the sad parts, but the cute moments with Robin, and between Daryl and Reader... God, I love their little family. Also, if you noticed that I changed Robin’s age to 5 in the last few chapters, it’s because I did the math (actually made a whole timeline of the show/my series) and Robin and RJ would actually both be five since they were born roughly nine months after Rick’s “death” (aka where the time jump begins). The title of this chapter is a reference to a quote from George A. Romero's classic film, Dawn of the Dead (1978). If you haven't seen it, I highly, highly recommend it!

You could feel the mirth in the air as the gates to the Kingdom opened, and as King Ezekiel and Carol came rushing up to greet Henry, taking him in their arms and crying tears of joy.

They must’ve been informed that Henry ran away from the Hilltop, because Carol said something along the lines of “don’t ever run away like that again.”

You couldn’t quite tell, though, because Bev was suffocating you with her hug, and her laughter rang out in your ears.

“You’re here!” she said, not having seen you since before you left for the Hilltop. “I almost thought you weren’t going to make it.”

“Are you kidding?” you asked, holding her hands in yours. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Hugs were exchanged with Carol, too, and for a moment everything was quite jovial, until Tara came to greet you, and quickly the smile on her face faded as she laid eyes on Lydia.

“The plan was to bring Henry,” she said, looking disappointedly at Daryl. “Just Henry.”

A tense silence broke out, and you were about ready to say something, take any and all blame off Daryl, but Michonne was quick to speak before you could.

“Gather up all the leaders,” she said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Michonne asked if you wanted to attend this meeting, but you decided it wasn’t really your place. You were a member of Alexandria’s council, but you didn’t feel like a leader, and you really wanted to spend time with Robin and your other friends from Alexandria. Daryl attended the meeting on your behalf.

Still, Gabriel took an informal vote among the council members present at the Kingdom that day, asking if Alexandria would be willing to grant Lydia asylum.

Though you thought about it for a moment, it was clear that you wanted to help Lydia, and letting her stay at Alexandria was going to be the best way to do that. So, you voted yes, and Gabriel took those votes to the meeting.

You couldn’t think about any of that, though… Not when Robin was fighting for her life to stay on that pony.

One of the residents of the Kingdom was trying to steady her, keeping her feet in the stirrups and trying to calm her down as she began to fidget, terrified that the small horse was going to buck her off. After all, the little girl had been told time and again the story of how her father got unceremoniously bucked off a horse at the Greene farm, and subsequently ended up with an arrow in his side.

“I—I don’t like it,” she said shakily to the man pulling the reins. “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” the man said. “Just relax. The horse won’t hurt you.”

You leaned over the railing of the horse enclosure anxiously, trying not to jump over the thing and take Robin in your arms. Then again, the girl was curious, having read about horses in her last Eyewitness book. Besides, she was going to need to learn horseback riding sooner or later.

“Relax,” said Bev, standing beside you and laughing at your nervous expression. “She’ll be fine. I hear Gordon’s great with horses.”

You swallowed hard, watching the man start to lead Robin around on her palomino pony. Watching the little black riding helmet bounce on her head, and her feet constantly coming loose from the stirrups, you grasped the ledge hard.

“I know, it’s just…” You dozed off as you continued watching the pony trot with Robin on its back, slowly coming around in a circle to pass you. “Hi, baby.” You said to her, smiling softly to comfort her. “You’re doing so good.”

She looked down at the horse, and started petting its soft mane as Gordon, the instructor, stopped the pony. “She’s a natural,” he said. “Well, um… she will be. With practice.”

After the slight trauma of her first time riding horseback, Robin was eager to go to the face painting booth, where artists from all the settlements had agreed to lend their skills.

She insisted upon you getting your face painted, too, and who were you to deny the girl? Though she got her whole face painted like a calico cat, you opted for the less invasive procedure of a small pink daisy on your cheek.

Next was the petting zoo, and Robin, with her obsession with animals, let out an adorably high-pitched gasp when she saw the llama, an animal she hadn’t seen before.

You watched in delight as the little girl fed hay to the gentle creature, all the while petting its fuzzy head.

Sitting on a nearby bench with Bev, you wondered if life could possibly get any better than it was, with the sounds of people all around you, laughing and spending time with old friends, reminiscing about times gone by, and looking forward to the future.

It reminded you of how far you had come, how far everyone who was here right now had come, and how much you had to thank those who gave their lives for this life.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Bev, tilting her head as she tried to look at your face.

You shook your head. “Oh, nothing. Just… Ten years ago, when this all started, if you’d asked me where I’d be now, this would be just the last thing I would think of.”

She smiled. “Yeah, same here. Who would’ve thought? An elementary school teacher and a university librarian, living large at the end of days.”

“For the longest time, I really thought I wasn’t meant to live in a world like this,” you said, for the first time saying such a thing out loud. “I mean, I had the will to live, and I did think that maybe there was something better out there, but for the longest time, I felt like… I don’t know, like a… mismatched puzzle piece, or something. Like I didn’t quite fit. Everyone else was adapting, becoming more… cold, and in some ways I did too, but I always tried to hold onto whoever I was before, even when it made me weak. I don’t know why, but I’m glad I did, because now, I feel like I can really be myself again. Not just with Daryl, or my friends, I feel like I don’t have to pretend to be tough, or that everything’s okay. I can just be, and the world can deal with it, instead of the other way around. Does—does any of that make sense, Bevvy?”

“Yeah,” she said, taking your hand in hers. “It makes total sense.”

She took a bite of her caramel apple, crinkling her nose as her hair got stuck in the sticky coat. You snorted.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re my best friend?” you asked.

She wiped her face, and looked at you with wide eyes. “I thought Maggie was your best friend?”

You shrugged. “I have several best friends. You just happen to be one of them. It’s an exclusive club, only reserved for the most elite members of society.”

She laughed and nudged your shoulder with hers. “Well, I’m honored. You’re my best friend, too. I don’t think I’d be alive right now if it weren’t for you training me like you did, and believing in me. Hell, after Eugene and I broke things off, you were the first one I wanted to talk to, because you’re… amazing.”

You scoffed at the compliment. Surely you weren’t anywhere near amazing. “You could’ve learned everything I taught you on your own,” you said. “And you know I’m always here for you. You’re like the sister I never had.”

She let out a teasing “aw” and slung her arm around your shoulders as you both looked on, watching the children feed the animals.

Bev soon left, eager to get her hands on another caramel apple, and Daryl came to sit next to you shortly after, the meeting having finished.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to his own cheek.

“A flower,” you said, and nodded towards Robin, who was still enamored with the llama. “She demanded I get something, too. I swear, that little girl can be just as needy as her father.”

He shoved you lightly, but scoffed in amusement. “Well, it looks real good on ya. Beautiful.” He kissed your clean cheek, then snaked his arm behind your back, pulling you closer to him.

“How was the meeting?”

“Good,” he said with a nod, keeping his eyes on Robin as she interacted with another child. “Lydia’s comin’ to stay in Alexandria, and Hilltop’s requesting extra soldiers from the other communities, in case the skins attack… We’re goin’ out there tonight, escorting the soldiers there.”

You nodded in understanding, knowing the mission was of the utmost importance. “I’m going, too,” you said. You’d learned long ago that the best way to get Daryl to let you go somewhere with him was to not ask, but to simply dictate. “When are we leaving?”

He huffed, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to argue with you. “Few hours.”

Though you wanted to stay at the fair as long as possible, and to take Robin to see her first movie in the theater, which had finally been up and running, you wanted to help out as much as you could, considering you were part of the reason why Hilltop was now in danger.

With bear hugs and kisses, you and Daryl left Robin and Dog at the Kingdom for the night, promising to return in the morning. You assigned Bev to be in charge of the Dixon “children” before riding off with Daryl on his motorcycle, which the Hilltop had generously brought to the Kingdom along with their trade bounty for the fair.

The bike led the caravan of delegates and soldiers from all the settlements, including Michonne, Carol, Yumiko, and Magna.

Soon, your group ran into three men on the road not far from the Kingdom, one from Alexandria, DJ, and two Highwaymen, a group the Kingdom had made a deal with to protect the roads as the fair commenced, named Ozzy and Alek. They informed you of an attack that occurred on a caravan coming from Hilltop to the Kingdom, and led you to the site.

There weren’t any bodies, only an overturned wagon, but it seemed pretty clear that it was the work of the skins, and from there, your group split, with the rest of them continuing on towards Hilltop, with yourself, Daryl, Yumiko, Michonne, and Carol staying to see if there were any survivors in the surrounding woods.

Night fell not long after the search began, and with night came walkers, many of which came from Hilltop.

The five of you stood your ground as more walkers emerged from the woods, coming in all directions and surrounding you. As usual, you had your axe, and used it to kill more walkers than you had in a long time.

Soon, they seemed to die down, but walkers you recognized not to be walkers at all were in their stead, wearing skin masks and moving closer to circle the five of you, as you stood with your backs to each other, holding your weapons up high.

The skins had weapons this time, too, some with knives and some even with guns.

“Drop them,” you heard a deep, haunting voice call out softly from the trees. The large man came forward, and you didn’t recognize him, but Daryl certainly did, as you could feel him tensing up even more as he stood beside you. It must have been the “giant” he told you about, the one he thought he killed. Surely, there wasn’t any other six foot seven man wearing a flesh mask in Virginia. “I won’t ask twice.”

Once you all reluctantly dropped your weapons, Beta came closer, towering over all of you, and looking Daryl in the eye, causing you to swallow hard in fear that he would hurt him.

“You just had to give me the girl,” he growled. “No one else had to die. Now that deal… is done.”

It seemed like hours passed as you stood there, your hands tied behind your backs, standing in a circle around a birch tree, with fifty or so skins surrounding you, when Alpha finally showed herself, emerging from the woods and slinking towards you, in that strange, languid gate of hers.

You were wedged between Daryl and Michonne, all three of you facing her.

“You ain’t never gettin’ her back,” said Daryl.

“You think this is about my daughter?” she asked. “I ran into some trouble on the road.” She pulled a sawed off double barreled shotgun from her belt. “It was unavoidable. “Do you like my new camp?” She sniffed the air, as if there was anything she could smell other than the death she surrounded herself with. “My people like to keep movin’, keep roamin’.”

“We’ve granted Lydia asylum,” said Michonne. “Any attempt to take her by force will result in retaliation.”

“What’s your name?” asked Alpha.

“Michonne,” she said confidently.

Alpha moved her gaze to Daryl, who you could just tell was boring a hole in her with his intense, angry stare. It radiated from him, that contempt.

“Does she speak for you?” Alpha asked him directly.

“We speak for each other,” he answered.

Alpha kept her gaze on him, as if lost in thought for a moment. You swore you saw her eyes glaze over, and being face-to-face with the woman for the first time, you were sure whatever was going on in that head was crazier than anything you’d seen in this messed up world, an amalgam of everything cruel and loveless.

You used to think Negan was the purest form of evil, but now, standing just inches away from an effigy devoted to every last drop of human suffering and misery, you knew evil had not been defeated that day, so long ago on that hill.

She was right in front of you, evil incarnate—cold, cruel, hateful.

“My daughter isn’t a concern anymore,” she said, looking around to address her people. “She was weak, she never lived up to expectations.”

How any mother could call her child weak was beyond you, but then, this wasn’t any mother—this truly was a monster.

“Was?” asked Daryl. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“To be clear,” she began to say, in that sonorous, Louisianan southern accent of hers, as she pulled out her gun again, now holding it with the barrel pointed towards Daryl. You began to breathe heavily, glowering down at her with sharp, stormy eyes. “Your group is in no position to threaten me. That is a habit that needs to be broken.”

She sniffled, and as if in realization of something, she locked her cold gaze on Daryl.

“Come with me,” she said. “Just you.”

No way in Hell, you thought. He’s not going anywhere with that crazy bald bitch.

“Don’t you touch him,” you growled at her, feeling the most territorial you had in a long time.

Alpha raised an eyebrow at you, cocking her gun at Daryl. “I’ll bring him back,” she said, almost smiling at how you shook in rage. “Now, come with me.”

Daryl looked at you as he did as she said, with that heavy gaze, tinged with a softness that was meant to ease your worry, but it only spurred you on, causing a lump to form in your throat at the thought of any harm coming to him, your greatest love, the father of your child, the other half of your soul, as cliché as it seemed, but you lived for clichés.

The cool golden hues of the first light shone through the trees, creating brilliant beams and shadows that otherwise would have been a welcome sight, but today, light gave the ability to see that which should never be seen, and Daryl had that horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach as he walked, Alpha’s gun pointed at him from behind as she directed him.

“Where you takin’ me?” he growled deeply, but the answer didn’t come from Alpha’s mouth.

There was a distant, constant rumble, low and quiet at first, until Daryl stepped forward more and more, approaching the edge of a cliff. The more he walked, he could hear the familiar growls and snarls, only there were far more than he’d ever heard at once, maybe even more than he’d heard combined.

He was pushed further to the edge, where he was forced to look down upon a sea of walkers, flooding the once majestic canyon with the echoes of tens of thousands of dead souls, waiting in a kind of limbo for whatever came next.

Purgatory, or Hell, or something in between.

What was that thing you told him once? That quote, from one of those old seventies horror flicks about the dead coming to life—“When there’s no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the Earth.”

It wasn’t just the dead, though. It was every sick, twisted soul who could come to power in such a world. That was who walked the Earth, hand-in-hand with the dead.

He looked upon that herd in fear, disgust, and disbelief, trying to find any crack in this vision he was sure was just some hallucination. How could a herd of this size even exist? Well, it wasn’t really a herd, more like… a horde.

Of course, he knew how it could exist—the skins, walking with the dead, leading them.

“My people are among them,” she said, confirming his suspicion. “Steering them.”

She looked at him, stood next to him upon that jagged precipice that separated the dead from the living, or the half-living, since Daryl wasn’t sure Alpha was really alive at all, just a shell of a person, hollow and cold on the inside.

She had this wide-eyed, crazed look upon her face, and if Daryl had any semblance of a doubt in his mind that this woman was beyond any redemption, they were squashed now, because anyone who could create such a hellish nightmare was incapable of being anything but pure evil.

“The only reason you and your friends are alive is because I let you live,” she said.

It all made horrible sense—Alpha wasn’t afraid of your people because she could bring a herd of gigantic proportions right to your doorstep, tearing through each and every one of your settlements until they were reduced to rubble.

“What do you want?” he asked her, narrowing his eyes and hating every minute he even had to look at the repulsive woman.

“Nothing,” she quickly replied. “You don’t got a single thing to offer me. I’ve seen how you live. I’ve walked your streets. It’s a joke. Your communities are a shrine to a long-dead world. My people, the Whisperers—we live as nature intended.”

Daryl pointed his finger at her, and twirled it derisively before snarling at her. “That’s just all the bullshit you feed your sheep, so they’ll follow you.”

“They follow me,” she retorted, “‘cause I am the Alpha.”

“Mhm,” Daryl mumbled sarcastically.

“And if the Alpha doesn’t assert herself, then there’s chaos.” She sniffed, then turned to look down at her horde. “So that is what I’ve done.”

He swallowed hard, wondering what she could possibly be referring to. His mind immediately went to you and the others, tied up around the tree, surrounded by skins, or Whisperers, as they apparently called themselves. He thought of that huge, practically indestructible man getting his hands on you, hurting you beyond his own capacity to think. It sent shivers down his spine and hitched his breath, just the thought of it.

“What’d you do?” he asked, almost choking up as he spoke.

She smiled. “Your friends back at the camp are fine. Tell them the next time they cross into my land, my horde will cross into theirs. The land between the broken interstates and the river to the south is mine. I’ve marked the border to the north, you’ll see it as you leave.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

She repeated herself, this time a little more smugly. “You’ll see it as you leave. Go. Your friends will be waiting for you in a field due north.”

He stepped forward slowly, returning her cold gaze. “Did you kill Lydia?”

She froze for a moment, as if lost in some memory.

“I don’t think you can protect my daughter,” she finally said. “But I hope I’m wrong.”

Daryl tilted his head, then nodded slightly. “You are.”

He came towards you with increasing speed, running to hold you in his arms as soon as he could see you.

“Thank God,” you huffed into his shoulder. “I thought for sure she’d hurt you, but I couldn’t do anything.”

He took your face in his, lacing his fingers through your hair. “I’m fine… You all right? They do anythin’ to any of ya?” He looked over your shoulder to see Michonne, Carol, and Yumiko.

You shook your head in his hands. “No, we’re all right. Shaken up, but all right. I guess they just wanted to make a point.”

He pulled you into him again, resting his chin on your head as he stroked your back. “Jus’ hope it’s done.”

You trudged through the woods, in the cool, windy morning, moving north towards Alpha’s border, with intentions to return to the Kingdom.

Emerging from a grove of dense woods, you heard muffled cries nearby, and Michonne called out Siddiq’s name before you could even realize what was happening.

“Siddiq!” she said, and proceeded to untie the man, as he’d been left, beaten, gagged, and tied to a tree. Surely, it could only be the work of the Whisperers.

“What happened?” you asked, helping Michonne shoulder the weight of the injured man.

He muttered some unintelligible sounds, but managed to point forward, and before you was a field, rising steadily on a hill.

As you trudged forward with the group, you couldn’t believe your eyes, even after all you had seen. You couldn’t make out whose bodies those heads once belonged to, not yet anyway.

They were stuck on spikes, in a neat, uniform row. It must’ve been the way Alpha decided to mark her border, with the added macabre twist of human heads.

Your breathing hitched, and a part of you wanted to walk faster, to see what faces you could recognize, if any, but another part wanted to freeze and turn back, as if none of it was there. Could it be real if you didn’t see it? Of course it could.

So you kept walking, moving ahead alongside Daryl as your breathing became more and more labored. Eleven spikes, eleven heads, all of which becoming dangerously more clear as you inched closer up that gentle hill.

When it became exactly clear that those heads weren’t dead, that they’d been strategically placed to keep the brainstem intact, and left to turn on those wooden spikes… That was when you lost all control, closing your eyes tight for a moment, and then telling yourself that you needed to open them, to see whose fate had been sealed the night before.

Tears seeped out from between your eyelids as you opened them slowly, with somewhat of a hope that the sight had disappeared. Of course it hadn’t, and before you were those ghastly spikes, and those disembodied heads, snarling and snapping.

The first two you didn’t know well, they were two of the highwaymen—Ozzy and Alek, but seeing them there, with those unnaturally clouded eyes, it was enough for you to cover your mouth in horror.

The next head was one you knew better, DJ. S former Savior, you’d had conflicts with him long ago at Rick’s bridge, but now he was a citizen of Alexandria, and sometimes he hosted the little male-bonding get-togethers Daryl would occasionally attend. It wasn’t much, but you knew him.

The bright red hair on the next head was a dead giveaway for Frankie, a former wife of Negan who had been taken in after the war. You liked her, and she was in your book club that you hosted every week. She was a friend.

As you trailed your eyes slowly over to the next spike, wanting nothing more than to stop yourself from looking, you felt Daryl pull you into him, forcing your gaze away.

You looked at him, tears flooding your eyes and clouding your vision until his face became a blur, because you knew, you had seen it out of the corner of your eye, but you weren’t entirely willing to believe it.

“Bev,” you said softly to him, and he only nodded gently, himself tearing up and trying to hold your cheek steady to keep you looking at him.

You closed your eyes and let out a cry, but Daryl’s hand let up, and you stayed in his arms to see the others, recalling now that Bev was taking care of Robin in your stead, and that if something happened to her, something might’ve happened to… You couldn’t even fathom it.

The next head belonged to Tammy, an older woman you knew from the days when Alexandria was more connected to the Hilltop. She was kind, from what you knew of her.

Heads belonging to two teenagers from Hilltop, Addy and Rodney, whom you had known as two of the three kids who snuck out with Henry, were there, too. It added another crack to the multitude in your heart, knowing such young people had been robbed of their lives before they hardly even started.

Enid’s head… Tara’s head… Henry’s head…

“Daryl,” you said through the tears, gesturing to the final head, the one you knew would destroy Carol.

He raised his head, and looked on to see the young man’s bloodied, pale visage. Once he realized, he let go of you, running swiftly to Carol and standing in front of her, in an attempt to keep her from seeing her son’s head on a pike.

“No, no!” he yelled.

He lowered his voice as he held her by the shoulders. “Just look at me,” he said. “Just look at me.”

On the way back to the Kingdom, no one said a word. There wasn’t anything to say after that, what you’d all just seen, who you’d just lost.

All you knew now was that the Hilltop was without a leader, and the Whisperers could finally be declared an enemy. At least, as far as you were concerned.

Daryl informed everyone of his information: Alpha was keeping a herd, and was going to use it as a weapon if any of your people crossed their borders again. No matter how many people you sent to the Hilltop, there was no way to keep it safe from that herd if she decided to send it. As far as you knew, the Whisperers still didn’t know the exact location of Alexandria or Oceanside, but you wouldn’t be surprised if they found out.

While no one declared war after that, it seemed like it was imminent. Still, none of the leaders wanted to lose anyone else to the Whisperers, especially after so long of maintaining peace. Nevertheless, everyone was already preparing, sharpening their weapons and strengthening their security, because sooner or later, something was going to happen.

That day, you returned to Alexandria with Daryl and Robin, and the other Alexandrians. You asked Lydia if she would be yours and Daryl’s ward, staying at your home there since she’d been granted asylum. She told you she wanted to stay at the Kingdom, at least until she felt like she could go anywhere. Henry’s death affected her greatly, and the fact that her own mother had presumably carried out his murder, it just made everything worse.

Upon the return home, you cried, much more than you had let yourself when you saw those spikes. At the time, you couldn’t even process what had happened, but now, in Alexandria, you had half-expected seeing a care package from Bev on your doorstep, as she usually left them in your absence. When you saw that barren welcome mat as you came through the door, with Daryl behind you carrying a sleeping Robin, you finally broke, nearly stumbling through the threshold and sobbing gently into your palm in an attempt to not wake the child.

You felt like you had failed them all, every living and dead soul you cared about. Why? Well, there was no rational reason. You supposed in that way you were a lot like Daryl, often blaming yourself for things outside of your control. Still, your mind searched for every possible movement you had made that led to their deaths.

If you didn’t care so much about Lydia, maybe they would still be alive right now. You wouldn’t have insisted upon bringing her to the Kingdom, and Alpha wouldn’t have infiltrated it like she did.

Carol’s son would be alive.

The Hilltop’s leader would be alive.

Your friend would be alive.

Soon the thoughts became too much, and you shut yourself in your bedroom, seeking to find any kind of solace in your sleep.

Daryl was devastated, too, but as usual, he was better at hiding it. He hoisted up Robin to get a better grip on her sleeping body as he began to climb the stairs. Her arms were flailed around his neck, and her legs hung around either side of his waist, dangling with each step.

She still had her rabbit-shaped backpack on, so as he entered her bedroom, he delicately pulled her arms off of him to untangle her limbs from the pack, which seemed to have the opposite effect of keeping her asleep.

“Are we home now?” she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes as Daryl laid her down on her bed.

He smiled as he hung the loop of her backpack on the hook behind her door. “Yeah, peanut.” He crossed the room to open her chest of drawers, and pulled out the first neatly folded nightgown he saw, long-sleeved with a red and green plaid pattern, and made of warm flannel fabric. It was getting cold out, and Daryl would rather chop his own arm off than know Robin wasn’t as warm and cozy as she could be. “Come on,” he said, gesturing to the sleepy child as he laid the garment on the foot of her bed. “Let’s get your jam-jams on.”

He helped the exhausted Robin out of her sweater and overalls, in desperate need of a wash after the day’s long journey from the Kingdom to Alexandria. When she was dressed in her warmest nightgown, he sent her to brush her teeth, knowing that if he let Robin go one night without brushing her teeth, you’d throw a fit, though he really didn’t see the harm in one night without it, since he himself had gone days on end without doing so. Still, he trusted your parenting more than his.

Daryl got to pulling back Robin’s sage green duvet, and her vintage floral sheets you spent months trying to mend, as they had been ripped before you got your hands on them. He fluffed up her pillows, and grabbed her stuffed rabbit to prop it on the pillow, as she often requested. A sudden burst of energy must’ve overcome the girl, because just after she finished brushing her teeth, Daryl felt fifty pounds of weight on his lower back as he was bent over arranging her bed.

“Agh!” he grunted, at first in surprise, then in amusement at the child trying to force him to give her a piggyback ride. “Robin Elizabeth!”

He reached behind him and hoisted her further up his back to keep her steady, and as he stood up a little straighter, she clasped her hands around his neck and laughed that enchanted, innocent laugh only the sweetest children could create.

“Thought you were sleepy,” he said, turning around to dip Robin off of his back onto the bed. She let go reluctantly, letting her body sink into the soft mattress below her. He turned around to face her again, and leaned down to poke her button nose, which seemed to look more and more like his everyday. She grimaced at the sensation, scrunching her face in mock disturbance. “It ain’t playtime, it’s bedtime. Under the covers.”

She obliged with a dramatic sigh, tucking her feet under the pulled back blankets, and letting Daryl tuck her snugly, as Dog trotted in through the open door and plopped himself at the foot of the bed, snuggling into the crook of Robin’s knees.

“Bad dog,” he said, about to shoo the canine away.

“No, Daddy,” Robin protested. “Can Dog sleep with me tonight?”

He huffed, and looked over to Dog, who let out a small whimper and flashed big, brown, glassy eyes at Daryl. “Course,” he said. “If ya want.”

She smiled and nodded, sinking into her pillow and pulling her covers up to her chin. “Thank you,” she said, then bit her lip as she stared curiously at her father, whose face was still dirty and bloody from the traumatic day. “Daddy,” she began to say, “why did those people kill Henry and Aunt Beverly? And Aunt Tara and Enid?”

He swallowed hard, and nodded to himself as he looked down at his muddied boots. He came forward, and scooted Robin’s legs aside so he could sit on her bed. “Well,” he said, “that’s… a big question. People kill for all kinds of reasons, and for no reason at all. I, uh… I think they didn’t really have a reason, birdie. They jus’ wanted to hurt us, our people. They wanted to hurt your Aunt Carol, and your momma, and everyone else who loved those people, but really there ain’t no reason. Jus’... did it ‘cause they could.”

She nodded in solemn understanding. It was strange, how much the children of the apocalypse knew of the world they lived in, even when their parents tried so hard to give them a normal childhood. Robin could be the most blissfully unaware child, and in a moment’s notice, she could understand every heinous detail about the outside world, or at least she could try. It was like it was built into them now.

“But they’re gone now, right?” she asked, grabbing her rabbit and holding it close to her chest. “They’re not going to hurt anyone else?”

He reached his hand over to stroke her hair, now slightly messy from contact with her pillow. “I don’t know, baby,” he said honestly. “But Momma and me, and Uncle Aaron, and Aunt Michonne, and everyone else here… We’re gonna try real hard to make sure it doesn’t happen again, and to keep you safe. That’s what I know.”

Robin nodded her head, but looked worried still, and her eyes became glassy as a line of tears formed above her lower eyelid. All he wanted to do was catch those tears before they could even fall, but they did fall, gently down the curves of her naturally rosy cheeks. He immediately lowered his hand to wipe them away with his thumb, though he couldn’t keep them away for long.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked. “Why’re you cryin’?”

Of course, there was much for a child to cry about, he knew that, but Robin always tried to keep herself from crying. Somewhere along the line, she began to hold her tears back as much as she could. You were sure it was the influence of the other children, and the fact that she’d once been teased for crying after being called a “tattletale,” ratting out another child for stealing Father Gabriel’s hat. There was a handful of children, both Robin’s age and older, who ridiculed her, either for crying or for some other reason beyond the little girl’s control, usually her parents or her intelligence.

If she cried from the teasing, that became just another reason to make fun of her, so she had begun suppressing the emotion, much to your worry, and Daryl’s too. He’d had a similar experience growing up, though he was encouraged not to cry.

She couldn’t hold back these tears now, though, not when so many people had died, and she knew they wouldn’t come back.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you and Mommy,” she said shakily. “I’m scared.”

He tilted his head, then quickly wrapped his arms around her, rocking her back and forth as she cried into his shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly. “Nothin’s gonna happen to us.” His heart broke at the whimpers and muffled sobs. Even Dog noticed the girl’s distress, and nuzzled his nose under the crook of Daryl’s arm to wedge his snout there, trying to touch Robin. “I know she don’t show it much, but your momma’s tough as nails when she wants to be, and I’m just too mean to die.”

Robin let out a giggle through her tears, and lifted her head from Daryl’s shoulder to look at him. Her face was red and raw with tears, and the whites of her eyes were red, too, but the wide smile on her face, lifting her cheeks to the heavens and radiating such warmth and love and hope… Well, it reminded him of a certain woman he knew.

“You’re not mean,” she corrected as she rubbed her eyes and sniffled. “You’re just a little grumpy sometimes, but that’s okay.” Daryl furrowed his brows and gave the girl a teasing frown, which quickly morphed into a smile. She leaned forward to kiss his nose, with an exaggerated “mwah” for good measure. He blinked tightly at the sensation, but let out a jolly laugh.

Dog lifted his head to look up between Daryl and Robin, now whining slightly at not receiving attention. “Oh, really?” Daryl asked the canine, raising his hand to begin petting his head as Robin stroked his furry back. Dog began licking Daryl’s face, causing him to grimace in disgust. “Goddamnit, Dog!”

Robin shook her head. “Language, Daddy.”

He huffed. Ever since her, Judith, and Gracie decided to each implement a swear jar in their respective homes, Daryl was under immense pressure not to use any bad words, which he supposed was good, since it was a habit he was trying to break anyway around Robin. The girl was more absorbent than a dry sponge.

Only thing was, the pennies he had to put in there were useless in this world, but he played along anyway, always carrying a few in his pocket.

“One penny, right?” he asked, pushing Dog from his face.

She nodded. “Mhm.”

Daryl rose from the bed, and pulled an old, dirty penny from his back pocket, dropping it in the small mason jar covered in ballerina stickers on her dresser. “M’kay,” he said, turning around to face her and replacing the covers over her body. “Time for bed now. You still got school in the mornin’. You ain’t missin’ no more.”

“But—”

He looked at her sternly, as sternly as he could. That little girl could break his will more than any interrogator or torturer this side of the Mississippi. “No buts about it, missy. All the other kids gotta go, so you do too, and I’m the one who’s gotta get ya up and at ‘em in the mornin’. Come on, settle in.”

She reluctantly lowered herself down, resting her head on the pillow and snuggling with her bunny again. He tucked her in tightly, making sure she was nice and snug underneath her multitude of blankets, since it was going to be a cold autumn night.

“There ya go, snug as a bug in a rug,” he said.

He kissed her forehead, and Dog repositioned himself to a circular shape by her feet. “Kiss Dog goodnight, too,” she said.

Daryl huffed, looking between his daughter and his “son.” He shook his head. “The things I do,” he grumbled, and leaned down to press a very quick, light kiss between Dog’s pointed ears. He leaned up to look at Robin again, who was holding back a small giggle at the man’s obedience. “Goodnight, Robin,” he said, unable to hold back his own small smile. She was too precious. “Sweet dreams. Love ya.”

“Love you, Daddy. Goodnight.”

He moved to turn down her lantern, and then crossed over to switch on her nightlight, the one that took up generator power, but he always told Robin it kept away the monsters, so she needed it.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

~

✏ Taglist

@angrybeardbread | @bbrookiee | @bitchynicole | @browneyes528 | @btsiguess-kpop | @byashj | @carnationworld | @citylights31 | @darylgf | @depressedsleepysloth | @dumdumsun | @im-just-star-dust | @jodiereedus22 | @kissmeunicornbaobei | @lacilou | @lady-discord | @littleboysmile | @littlegodzilla | @lmiautynal | @lovinnholland | @lyndzjones | @moonlightreader649 | @murd3rsc3n | @quietly-scrolling-through | @riverscyberwife | @roxaneisbored | @ruinedbythehobbit | @smoochesfroggos | @spenciepoo338 | @spidergirla5 | @sseleniaa | @sweetsunflowerkisses | @triscuitcracker | @twdddgirl | @wickedscorpio22 | @witheringblooddemon | @wolfiepirate

#daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #twd #twd fanfic #the beginning series #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x oc #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus x reader

[whumpzone]

Lost Property - 6

(masterpost)

Previous - Next

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation

-

”What do you mean, there are no rooms left?”

Lydia could feel a headache coming on. Her neck and shoulders were sore after the nerve-racking drive in the storm. Also, she was worried about flying with Coriander in the morning. He was usually good with taking the bus or train, but she’d never flown anywhere with a pet before. They’d informed her that he would have to go through a separate boarding process if she wanted him to be able to fly in the cabin and not as luggage. She’d discussed it with him, of course, and he’d said he’d be fine. But how would he actually take it? Cory was doing so much better lately, coming out of his shell and being more talkative. She was worried that a bad experience might set him back. Lydia did not feel like being charitable to the hotel staff who clearly were not doing their proper jobs.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but as I said, we are really fully booked. There are no rooms for pets free tonight. We do offer a selection of comfortable cages…”

Lydia interrupted. “For Christ’s sake, just give them a regular room. He’s got a human pet. It is not like they will leave fur all over the carpet!”

The young man behind the counter withered beneath Lydia’s disapproving stare.

“I do apologise.” He said, holding up both hands defensively in front of himself. “It is against the hotel chain’s policy. But your reservation is correct and the room is yours.”

He turned to Linden, visibly relieved to deal with the polite, raven-haired man rather than the fuming, demanding woman right in front of him. “We do apologise for the inconvenience, sir, but I promise you that our cages keep the highest standards. They are regularly cleaned and deflead. They each have a rubber mattress and an automatic feeding and watering system. It is fairly empty tonight, we have a couple of guard dogs around, but that is it. I can take your pet there myself.”

“Um… Well… I think that perhaps…” Linden begun hesitantly.

Lydia had a sudden vision of the pet she had seen just briefly in the corridor, shivering and terrified and reminding her so forcefully of Coriander. This tall, soft-spoken man with the heavy-lidded dark eyes must be the devil in disguise, to earn that kind of trembling fear from his pet. But if it was anything Lydia had learnt from her experiences with Coriander was that pets were hard-wired to feel safer near their owner.

“No.” She said, loudly, making both of the men look at her in surprise. The receptionist had been explaining something about a ‘spa’ and ’compensation’. “You’re not putting his pet in a cage either. We can share the room tonight. It will be fine.”

She was purposefully not leaving any space in the conversation for either of them to interject. “Do you have an extra bed?”

The receptionist shook his head. “There’s two extra beds and a double bed in your room, but I am afraid we can’t offer you anything else.”

“Do you have extra blankets?” When he shook his head again Lydia snorted in frustration. “Do you have extra towels?”

When he handed her the stack of towels, she grabbed them, turned around and thrust them at Linden. “Here you go.” She did feel slightly self-conscious about the surprised and shocked look that he gave her, but comforted herself with the thought that this would be better for the pet.

Following in the strange woman’s wake down the stairs again, Linden thought that this trip had certainly turned out to be a disaster. Spending a whole night in cramped quarters with this loud and abrasive woman would not be anyone’s idea of a great time. The only upside was that he didn’t have to argue Col out of being in a cage. He had been considering sleeping in the hallway, or the lobby. But if this woman didn’t mind them staying, then Linden hoped that at least meant she wouldn’t do anything horrific to her pet while they were there.

Opening the door to the room, the first thing Lydia saw was the two pets sitting together on Cory’s bed, two fair heads together. They were both petting a small, fluffy grey cat that was lying curled up in Cory’s lap. Her orange eyes were slowly closing in complete bliss.

“Hi.” She said softly to their equally startled expressions. “We’re going to share this room tonight. There’s an extra fold-out bed in the cupboard.“ Looking at the boys - realising she definitely thought about them as boys rather than the grown men that they were - she decided that she could not ask either of them to share a bed. Not even have Cory share a bed with her. Not after the ways in which he had been … used, by former masters. Instead, she turned to the owner and pointed to the other, untouched side of the double bed. “We can share a bed.” she said. “There’s only one big duvet, but you can have that. I have a long coat that is still dry that I can use.”

-

The sight of Col and Cory together, fawning over Jaffa, was the first thing Linden had seen all evening that had made him feel better, rather than worse. He hadn’t explicitly told Col to take her out of her cage, or show her off, so the fact he’d shown his own initiative was a great sign.

Both pets looked up in unison when Linden and Lydia appeared, both just as surprised and apprehensive. Lydia spoke before anyone else had a chance- she was good at taking control, Linden noted. Definitely not the type to grant her pet any leniency. That said, it had been strangely refreshing to be spoken to in a curt, I-won’t-accept-no-for-an-answer way. It was a far cry from Col’s nervous, painfully formal speech.

“Hi. We’re going to share this room tonight.”

Lydia explained the extra fold-out bed, the single duvet, and then informed Linden that they would share the proper bed. He was almost, almost a bit annoyed, only because he had been about to say that. He didn’t even go into Colton’s bedroom normally, there was no chance he was going to climb into bed with him. But there was no way to explain all that, so instead he agreed without any argument. This Lydia woman probably thought he was the easiest person in the world to boss around.

“There’s only one big duvet, but you can have that. I have a long coat that is still dry that I can use.”

“No, honestly, we can just share it. The duvet’s big enough, we’ll be fine. I’m not fussy.”

Lydia eyed him, then tilted her head to the side and shrugged. “Fine. You take the left side, I’ll take the right.”

Before she could turn away, Linden blurted out. “Uh- my name’s Linden. You’re Lydia, right? And this is Colton.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Col dip his head respectfully, which Linden had learnt was his version of saying hello.

Lydia waved at Col with a soft smile, and then, to Linden’s surprise, looked back at him sheepishly. “Nice to meet you, Colton, Linden. I’m sorry for not asking- it’s been quite an evening, hasn’t it? Oh, and this is Coriander.”

So that was what Cory was short for. Linden found it quite amusing.

“It has. Thank you for sorting it.” He went over to Cory, stopping just out of reach and clasping his hands behind his back. He bent at the waist ever so slightly, his hair falling forward, and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Coriander. I’m glad you like my cat. She definitely likes you.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Cory said quietly. Jaffa was still fast asleep on Coriander’s lap, unaware of her awkward surroundings.

Everyone was more than ready for bed, and soon Linden was curled up tightly, as far from Lydia as he could manage, doing his best not to make her too uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure what to make of her, or her pet, but it would be best for everyone if he and Lydia could sleep well.

taglist part 1:

@cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#lydia and linden #pet whump #whump fic

[realityescapee01]

Scott McCall x reader imagine

If Stiles has a Lydia Martin, Scott has Y/N L/N. A long time crush.

"Go get the girl!" -Stiles pushed Scott.

"I can't. I don't think I match up to her."

"What do you mean?"

"She's smart. And I'm..."

"You're smart, Scott!"

"Really?"

"Well, not as smart as Y/N." Scott slumped his shoulders. "But you're not dumb, Scott."

"That's very comforting, Stiles. Thanks." -Scott as sarcastic as he can.

"You're neighbors, like literally next door. You have a motorbike. Use it as an advantage."

The school day went on with Scott trudging behind Y/N far enough not to be creepy and not to get noticed. Stiles walking with him.

"I have a plan, Scott. Y/N huh?... She's... cute. Shorter than you." -Stiles enumerating. Then held his hand up to your estimated height and compared it to Scott's. Y/N would be up a little over Scott's chin. "Oh, perfect hugs. Her face would be at the crook of your neck, her arms up around it, then your hands on her ass."

Scott was visualizing everything Stiles was saying and then some.

"Oh god! You're thinking 'it'? You're a pervert!"

"W-What?!? You fed me those images!"

Scott was busy arguing with Stiles as they walk, that he didn't realize Y/N stopped walking and was talking to someone. Scott ended up bumping onto her, hard. Y/N almost falling over. Scott caught her, his strong arms around her waist, holding her still. Both of them almost falling over. Scott stepped one foot forward to steady them both. Y/N has her back on Scott when he bumped on to her.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry!" -Scott straightened up, taking Y/N along with him. He then proceeded to pick up her books.

Y/N just stood there, blushing. She was shocked, really. And also the fact that Scott's body was so close to hers. And the fact that she started crushing on the lacrosse captain about half way through sophomore year.

Scott gave Y/N her books and apologized again. Seeing Stiles behind Y/N, with a thumbs up. So that was the plan.

Y/N looked up at Scott. He looked so different compared to their freshman year. The two of them being next door neighbor meant that they saw each other grow up. And Scott grew up well. He's got this new hairstyle. New clothing style. And great body... wait...

Y/N blushed harder as she mentally scolded herself. Also remembering their bump a while ago.

"It's okay." -Y/N took her books and hurried into their next class.

---

"What kind of plan was that, Stiles?!?" -Scott flopped onto Stiles bean bag seat.

"It went well." -Stiles sat beside Scott.

"Well... yeah." -Scott got this smile on his face. And Stiles knew something was up.

"That look... what is it???"

"It's just... when I bumped onto her and held her to steady both of us... her... is so close to my..."

"Come on! Just say it!"

"Her butt was pressed onto my crotch."

"Oh my god! Pervert!"

"You're the one who made me bump into her!!!"

"Fair enough, yeah." -Stiles admitted to it. "But you liked it anyway."

Scott just put on a goofy smile.

---

Y/N was running late today and missed the bus. She cursed as the bus sped off without her.

"Hey." -Scott stopped in front of her, on his motorbike.

"S-Scott. Hi."

"Come on." -Scott held out a spare helmet to Y/N.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. But took it anyway. She had a hard time getting on the motorbike. After finally getting on it. She held onto Scott's shoulders.

"On the torso, waist or hips, is a better handle." -Scott told Y/N.

"Oh... sorry. I don't ride bikes much." -Y/N did as told.

She lowered her hands on Scott's waist. Scott started the the engine and they drove off. Scott could sense Y/N's uneasiness. And also they're running late. He needs to go faster.

"Y/N, we need to go faster, or we'll be late."

"Okay."

Scott smiled and sped up. Y/N tightened her hold in Scott's waist. Scott went even faster and Y/N needed a better grip. She brought her hands up onto Scott's torso and leaned on his back a little bit.

Scott was thankful they have a helmet on, because he was smiling like crazy as they pass the school bus over. And Stiles's Roscoe too.

Stiles gasped and grinned. "Oh you fuckin' smooth, Scott."

-+-+-complete-+-+-

more on my master list here

#scott #scott mccall #imagine #reader #teen wolf #werewolf

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

come on in, folks, i got some kind of goof ass Beetlejuice/Evil Dead crossover for you to enjoy.

He’s eighteen, and it’s Saturday, which means that he and Lydia are wandering around Manhattan, looking for trouble to get into. Lydia, eleven and ever his little shadow, is standing next to him, as they take a moment, on the busy New York street corner, to sip their boba and think about their next move. They were meant to be watching some horror movie that had looked alright from the previews, but ended up being so stupid, it wasn’t even fun, and the Deetz siblings had found themselves walking out, one hour poorer but a bucket of overly butter saturated movie popcorn richer. “I still can’t believe how bad that was,” Lydia says, again, huffing, because they’d actually paid money to see that stinker, instead of sneaking in, which is their usual habit. “Ya get one big name attached an’ everyone apparently stops givin’ a shit. Musta figured th’ droolin’ masses would eat it up,” he agrees, and he slurps up the last of his tapioca balls, and then proceeds to eat the plastic straw. “Is it too much to ask that characters actually be interesting, and, I don’t know, behave like normal human people?” Lyds bitches, as BJ takes a bite out of his cup, too. She glances up at him, dryly. “I mean, I guess maybe my standards for normality are low, but still.”

He grins at her. “Whatever could you possibly mean, sister dearest?” he puts on a posh, almost transatlantic accent, and she rolls her eyes, and sucks boba up in her straw, then shoots the pearls at him like a pea shooter. He snorts and laughs.

It’s a good day, despite the letdown at the movies. It’s nearly that time of year, just about the start of his seasonal depression, as the sun becomes shy and things go cold and gray. Still, there’s some time left with the sunshine, so he’s drinking it up, savoring it, and it feels good, to stand here with Lyds, and talk about nothing. “Alright, come on, let’s second act it,” he grins, and she perks up. “I think Wicked’s playing!” “Wicked’s always playin’.” “Well, I’m not sitting through Hamilton, it’s a Saturday. I’m not learning if I don’t have to.” “Totally fuckin’ fair. Music Man, maybe?” “Hugh Jackman’s weirdly brick shaped head freaks me out.” “There’s gotta be a show we can sneak into,” BJ frowns, scratching at the scruff of his chin, and then he catches a scent he’s never smelled before, as Lydia puzzles through their remaining options. It’s like death, sort of, but not. Like death warmed over, or death, refried. He takes his sister’s hand, and leads her away from the street corner, following the smell, nose in the air, pupils blown wide, and Lydia laughs. “Great, time to go poke a dead thing. That’s more fun than The Last Four Years, at least.” She’s seen him go like this before, and thinks she knows what to expect.

Neither of them know how to react when they follow the scent down an alleyway and see the violent fight happening in front of them.

Parked at the far end of the alleyway is a car, some 70’s make that he doesn’t know enough about such things to name, and between it, and the Deetz siblings, is an one handed man absolutely going feral on a group of three refried dead smelling zombie… things. “Deadly-vu,” he hears Lydia whisper, as they watch the man perform a scissor kick that sends a zombie head flying. It bounces like a basketball against the brick wall that makes the alleyway, rolls, and lands at the Deetz sibling’s feet. There’s a beat, as they stare at it, and it stares back, before the head on the ground opens its mouth and speaks. “DEMON!” it shrieks, and then it makes the life ending choice to roll at Lydia, teeth bared, and his boot is going through it, crushing through the skull like an overly juicy bug under his heel. He takes a second to wipe the gore from his sole onto the pavement. “Maybe Wicked could be good,” he turns and says to Lydia, who responds by ducking behind him, because the body the head formerly belonged to seems to be stumbling at them, clutching something in it’s boiled and infected and puss covered arms, and it thrusts the thing at BJ, before falling down and collapsing into dust. It’s a book. Some kind of creepy old demon book, from the look of it. He wrinkles his nose in vague disgust, and then takes a sniff. If the zombie things are refried death, this thing is a whole fucking Mexican food buffet of it, and it makes his head spin in a way he’s never felt before. He kind of likes it. He’s about to give the cursed reading material a tentative lick before a boom rings out from in front of them- the one handed man has pulled a sawed off shotgun off his back, and dispatched another corpse thing. There’s one left, and it’s circling the man, who by this point is so blood covered, he looks like he was tricked into being prom queen, or something.

“Is it just me, or do you freaks just keep gettin’ uglier?” the man quips, and the corpse lunges, a stumbling move which earns it the butt of the shotgun to the jaw, which goes flying. The zombie is shot through the gut, and drops, but is a twitching, squirming mess. BJ’s seen enough horror movies to know that thing is getting back up. The stranger has apparently, too. He takes a moment to reload the shotgun, then double taps, blowing clean through the thing’s skull. He blows at the slightly smoking barrels of his sawed off, twirls it, and holsters it, re-slipping it onto his back. It’s a pretty cool move, actually, and the siblings watch in rapt attention. It takes the three remaining people (well, two people, one demon,) in the alley a moment to actually focus on each other, and there’s silence, before the stranger speaks. “Uh,” says the man, covered in blood, and Lydia peaks out from behind BJ, and stares at him, with big eyes. “Kids,” he hears the man mutter. “Great, just what I need, a coupla kids, gettin’ in my way.. Hey, kiddies,” he says, louder, with a smile, which might be really charming when he’s not soaked in rot and blood, but the effect at the moment is not as sincere and friendly as he clearly thinks it is. “Looks like you two little heroes managed to wrangle my book away from those deadites. You wanna do your pal Ash a favor, and hand it over?” He makes a “come here” motion with his stump arm, and then seems to realize that’s not so appealing, because he tucks that appendage behind his back, worried, suddenly, about scaring them. As if a man with a missing hand is the weirdest thing they've seen in the last five minutes.

“What the fuck,” Lydia says, and BJ can’t help but agree with that sentiment. Also, he feels a vague sense of sudden responsibility for this weird old tome. It doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of thing a human should have. Maybe those zombies… deadites? Maybe they were trying to get back what was stolen from them. Though he’s not charitable enough to assume that they’re the good guys in this feud. The stranger, Ash, takes a careful step forward. “It’s alright,” he says, like he’s talking to a wild animal he’s trying to tame, and not a teen and preteen, respectively. “I’m not gonna hurtcha. Just need to get my book back.”

A sudden screeching wind roars down the alleyway, and both living humans react, ducking, as it bellows and swirls around them, kicking up dust and trash and chunks of leftover deadite. “Demon! Aid us!” BJ feels a presence in front of his face, something he can’t see, but a great, ancient something, reaching out to him, demanding, begging, pleading, for him to assist in whatever macabre goal it wants to meet. He responds by sticking his unglamoured tongue out at it. “Ewww, gross. No.”

The thing shrieks again, and makes a beeline for Lydia, which is just about the stupidest thing it could have done, because he drops his glamour fully and snarls, gives the ancient being a psychic push back, and he sends the thing that cannot be seen flying, out of the shady darkness of this alleyway, past what he assumes to be Ash’s car, and out onto the city street, into the sun. It shrieks and moans and curses him. He flips it off, as it dissipates. The vibe in the air, however, tells him it’s not “dead,” just gone.

Ash straightens up and looks at him. BJ’s already slipped his human disguise back on, so the effect is that Ash has just seen what seems to be a slightly too pale and definitely overweight human teen somehow push back an ancient evil, totally unaffected. Now it’s his turn to let out a confused, “What the fuck?”

“Come on, BJ!” Lydia grabs her big brother’s arm and pulls him away, running from the gore and the confused zombie slayer. “Wait, kids-!” Ash rounds the corner, after them, but the Deetz siblings are already gone, disappeared into thin air, flash stepping the span of blocks in the blink of an eye, and they don’t stop until Lydia, sick from the teleportation, gives his hand a squeeze. They appear on a rooftop, confusing and traumatizing some pigeons that had been roosting.

“Wait, why did we run?’ BJ asks, and Lydia looks at him like he’s a moron. “Because that guy was clearly a monster hunter! And kind of really good at it!” she says. He mulls that over, and smiles. “Worried for your big bro?” he bats his eyelashes at her, and she responds by slugging him in the gut, which he reacts the barest amount to. “Last thing I want is to explain to mom and dad how you ended up with a shotgun blast through your skull,” she says, and crosses her arms, before leaning forward, to study the book he’s still holding. “So. What is that?” He grins. “Wanna open it an’ find out?” Read the rest of the first chapter here!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice au #bj deetz au #ashley williams #ash williams #evil dead fanfiction #lydia deetz #emily deetz #charles deetz #my writing

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

The Inquisitor’s Throne

I wrote this and realized it fits in with @14daysdalovers “Midnight Rendezvous” prompt. Cullen and Lydia Trevelyan, NSFW. Piece contains semi public sex, mild dirty talk, oral sex, and clothed sex all on a throne. Please enjoy! Also on A03

Dainty, delicate Inquisitor Lydia Trevelyan they call her. She can certainly play the part, look good in rich silks and swish her hand elegantly when she has to. It’s comes easy to charm a few nobles with carefully placed words, though she only does it if she must. Few deserve her sweet words, and one has them all.

Yet she had a cup, one she carries with her that no one else can see other than those closest to her. Sometimes it overfills. Sometimes it spills, and delicate, dainty Lydia can’t wear the carefully placed mask anymore. These are the times where all she wants is her lover to remind her she was more than some precious doll.

Maker. At Skyhold and past midnight, finally done with wearing the mask at this silly social, she wants him to claw at her, possess her, throw her on his desk of his and mark her. She wants him fucking hard.

Now.

Such primal parts of her sexuality used to frighten her. Tempered and tamed in recent years she found that primordial part of herself could bloom as easily as the part of her that loved with no reservation. Her lover, who inhabited his body like a lion cast spells of his own. He was a remnant of a time forgotten, roughhewn and forged with fire with scars to prove it. His fucking was a sweet restorative, and she craved it all throughout that dinner, all through Lord Farquar’s bitter speeches of fine women and the might of the Inquisition. Beautiful the Lord called her in her long red dress and pulled back hair, golden shoes on her feet. He eyed that silver Andraste at her collar and asked no questions mercifully. He demanded until she yielded, and she would not yield. She’d have no answers anyway. He wouldn’t deserve it if she did.

The great hall was filled earlier, yet now it’s midnight and quiet she slips inside the study Solas once used to frequent. Once Solas would have smirked at her, as he knew she took this route to her lover. Yet with him not there she makes the trip unnoticed, and she remains unnoticed when she opens the door to his office. His back toward her he’s out of his armor with a book in his hand. It’s one of those adventure novels he covets, one she’s picked up to read herself when she far away from him. When she’s away she relishes in the intimacy of reading the same words as he. Her heels click against the stone floor toward him before she wraps her arms around him, embraces him from behind as he dissolves against her, putting the book up on the shelves. She kisses the back of his neck before sinking her teeth there, laving the spot with her tongue. He moans before he turns around, cupping her face in his broad hands.

She looks beautiful, he says, tilting her chin up and kissing her. She certainly didn’t feel as such till he said it, till his arms are around her and she’s encased in his smell. He’s sweat and the sweetness of elderflower, earthy oakmoss and something distinctly man. She feels more woman when he grips her curves, when his stubble scratches her delicate skin.

 “Fuck me hard Cullen.”

His answer is a small “oh,” eyes wide. Maker he even blushes and she wants to laugh. He, whose taken her on his desk, who moved the mirror closer to their bed so he may watch her ride him. “Pick me up and take me upstairs,” she whispers as she kisses him once more, his cock growing harder against her. “Tell me I’m yours.”

“Rather take you to your room,” he says, kissing her neck. “Your mirror is there.”

“You’re so proud of how you fill me, aren’t you?” she asks, caressing his neck and lightly scratching her nails, her breath against his ear. “Then take me away.”

She leads him out of his office and into the empty great hall. It’s midnight and no one is about to watch the Commander take the Inquisitor into his arms and into a hot and searing kiss, a prelude to more. He tugs on the sleeve of her dress to pull it down, baring a part of her breast. His lips are warm against her skin as he cradles her back, pressing their bodies together. She hums, wrapping her arms around him, willing and wishing to dissolve.

“Turn around,” he whispers in her ear. She does so for him, wondering what he wants her to look at. All she sees is her large and expansive throne where she sits in judgement, silver moonlight casting blue and purple shadows against it. It is the seat of the high Enchanters’ gilded in gold and adorned with dragons along the side. A fine symbol for her role as Inquisitor, a seat only for her.

Yet she asks “Cullen?” as she strangely doesn’t understand, at least not at first. They’ve been brazen but this would be another matter entirely.

Still, he wraps his arms around her middle, presses his cheek next to hers. He says, “there,” and yes, he would be even more brazen.              

She gulps. He’ll rescind, she’s sure, but he nips at her neck and says he wants her spread open there, wants to taste her there. He can’t wait and he’d rather have her elegantly on her throne than in the hallway leading to her room or against the wall.  Judging by the way she leans against him, rubbing herself against his hardness, she can’t wait either.

“My dearest,” he says, his arms still around her, a warm hand slipping underneath her dress, touching her breast, and further pulling down the sleeve. It’s such a sweet endearment he says to contrast with such bawdiness. “Haven’t you ever thought of us there?”

“Yes,” she admits, gasping when he takes one of her pert nipples between his fingertips and squeezes gently. “But someone could see.”

“Has that ever mattered?

Fucking no, never. It is the final pull, because yes, she too can be brazen. Turning in his arms she lets him lead her to the throne. She sits there as she always does yet as an empress rather than Inquisitor, and he sinks to his knees, parts her thighs to sit between them. “That’s my girl,” he says as he kisses his way up her leg, Lydia gathering and pulling her red skirts up for him. She stares with unmasked, unashamed lust at his golden head, his scarred mouth open against her calf, moving upward to her knee and thigh. She helps him slide off her undergarment, crimson red like her dress, and when it falls to the ground next to them she makes a mental note to pick it up later lest someone see. She grabs his hair, twists the curls as her legs spread further apart. How many times has she sat on this spot, a crowd of people all staring at her and waiting for her to make a judgement or say something worthwhile. When she takes her lover’s mouth on her throne, his tongue lapping over her clit, she groans quietly, wishing it could be louder, wishing her cries of pleasure could echo through the room so loudly she’ll hear it again the next time she’s here and must remain nothing more than a pretty doll. She’s survived and lived and loved and fucked and it’s Cullen who she loves and fucks and makes her empress of lust, love, and want.

With one slow, sinful press he slides his forefinger inside, then another. She thrusts her hips closer to his face and he takes in her musky scent. She curses and thrashes as he builds on her growing frissons, compelling her to come on his face. With strangled breaths her thighs clamp around his cheeks, coming for him as he crooks his finger inside her. She reels in her residual waves, breathes and pants heavily as she comes back to earth. Hazy as she is however she’s still cognizant enough to push down his breeches and that tunic he’s wearing so’s bare in front of her on her throne. In the spilling moonlight he is baked marble from his time in the sun, silver from where his numerous scars have healed and dusted with golden hair on his chest and lower abdomen leading to his cock. All marble, gold, and silvered radiance, her hands grab his slim hips, her lips leaving kisses on his abdomen. Come take me fair knight, she thinks of saying as she strokes his cock, soft moans so sweet from his parted hips, but she has another idea.

Standing, skirts falling to her feet she throws her arms around his neck, kisses him and moves him over in front of her throne. She leads him down upon it and he smirks as if he’s some proud thane of a great hold. She sits astride him and he holds her ass, grabs it without shame and caresses underneath her cloths so the first thing anyone would see if they entered was the Commander’s hands on his Inquisitor on her throne. She hopes they know he touches her good. If she could she’d wear his love marks like tattoos.

She gathers up her skirts once more as he angles his cock toward her entrance. The skirts cover them as she holds his shoulders for balance, and he wraps his arms around her as she rises and falls and bounces on his cock, keeping her hands on his neck and keeping their eyes locked. He’s deep this way, full and warm and almost too much. But she can take him, take all of him. He never makes her cup spill or overflow.

“You feel good,” he says as his lips meet hers. “That’s my girl. You’re no one’s but mine.”

She told him earlier, tell me I’m yours. “Your mine,” she says in turn. “Cullen…”

“I know, I know…” She gasps as he sticks his hand underneath her cloths. “I love being yours.”

“You fill me up so fucking good…”

He chuckles as she moves, asks him if he ever thought she’d take him here of all places. “Maybe I dreamed of you here,” he says as he nips her neck. Someday they’ll leave this place and if the magic there is a strong as she has been told it is, the walls will imprint the memory of the Commander and Inquisitor fucking sweetly and adoringly, and a thousand years from now her words will still be etched in the stone, Cullen you fuck me so good…

He captures her in a kiss as she comes again on top of him with the beckoning of his fingers against her clit. A piercing cry would alert nearby guards, and as it is they’ve already had too much luck in this moment. They cling and he claws and they hold each other as the only thing that makes sense in the whole world. The way they lock and meet and join is what matters, not the show or the pomp or her mask as Inquisitor. This is real. Them.

He comes in her arms with her name sweetly on his lips. Her thighs ache from the movement, pleasant before yet not burning, and her are legs pressed against the hard stone of the throne. She chuckles when she thinks of how much his bare rear must hurt against it—it hurts her covered rear when she has to sit in judgement for long periods of time. Yet he keeps her in his arms when she tries to remove herself, burying his head in the crook of her neck. His lips are soft where his stubble is roughish, and it strikes her how even though he’s a strong man, a good man, and one that makes her feel safe, he too feels safe when she holds him. They dissolve into each other in their world together crafted in the great hall of the Inquisition.

They kiss when she cups his face in her hands, his lips moving down her neck and toward her exposed breast. He takes her sleeve and brings it back from where he pulled it down as she adjusts herself, removing her hips from him. His spend skims down her thigh and she can’t imagine the tailor in Val Royeux who sewed together such finery would have dared to imagine the Inquisitor using the long skirts it to wipe away her lover’s dripping seed. Reluctantly, she at last removes herself, Cullen hasty as he puts his clothes back on. They laugh and think they’ve won whatever game they decided to play on the way back to her quarters, laugh at their own place where they make the rules. They are unscathed. No one saw, as much as perhaps she wouldn’t have minded if anyone did…

At any rate, round two happens in her quarters, the bed softer on their bodies, their moans no longer stifled. Upon no throne, he makes her an empress still.

****

Cullen tells her the next day when she comes to him in his office that he got a note, blushing as he does. She reopens it at his prompting.

Dear Curly, Fire’s smalls are behind the throne. Might want to get them, though there is at least one Orlesian noble who thought it was kinky. PS: thanks for the inspiration. Shocked I didn’t think of it sooner for Swords and Shields.

“I…forgot my smalls,” she says as she scans the letter, her cheeks going how. “Marvelous.”

Though he blushes too, there is a smile that cracks on his face. “You know, maybe I’ll pick up Swords and Shields.”

“But you already have so many interesting ideas all on your own.”

He laughs before he takes her into his arms.

#smut #lemons #cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #14dalovers #cullydia #shakeswriting

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 10

Congratulations! You have reached the second part of my remastered Derek Hale fic. We have made it to the second “book” in the series of 3. 

After Derek becomes the new alpha, things begin to change in the small town of Beacon Hills and (Y/N) is not sure if Derek is the same person she remembers.

--------------

I woke up slowly in my bed, not remembering how I got there. Did last night really happen? Slipping out of bed, I slowly made my way into the bathroom. My eyes looked normal. I opened my mouth, inspecting my teeth- they were normal too. I slowly lifted my shirt, looking over my stomach, lighting brushing my fingertips over the pink scars that followed the path that Peter’s claws took. And as my fingers passed over, the scar disappeared. I gasped, then shrieked when a hand held my shoulder. 

Uncle Noah pulled his hand away, raising them both in surrender, “Woah, sorry. I thought you heard me. You okay, is there something on your stomach?” I dropped my shirt. 

“Oh, no.” I lied, “I just thought there was a bug bite but it was just a mole.” 

He nodded, “Right. And uh, where were you yesterday? You were gone all day, didn’t come back until early this morning.” 

Memories of last night came back. Derek had laid me down to rest in the Hale house while he bit Jackson. Or at least that’s what I overheard. He must have brought me home.

“I was visiting a friend in town, and fell asleep at her place.” I looked down, my shoulders slumping. He looked so concerned, so worried. He had enough to be worried about as it is. 

“I’m really sorry, Uncle Noah.” He waved and shook his head. 

“It’s alright, you’re an adult. Just text me back next time.” 

“Got it.”

-

The next week had been strange enough. I was getting used to all the things Scott had described before - better hearing, better smell, running was a breeze and the strength…It felt pretty good being able to lift up the couch to get a remote from underneath it. The only problem was making sure it dropped in time before Uncle Noah came into the room. 

The only thing that disturbed me about this entire time was that I hadn’t seen Derek since he became an alpha. And I guess… What was I to expect? We weren’t dating. But what we did have was more than dating. But did he even see what we had as romantic? How embarrassing would that be if he saw everything as purely platonic. Was I not being forward enough? I thought my cheek kisses gave it away. Derek said a connection like ours could form from a mating ritual and mating meant love and I hate the fact that it’s called mating and I never want to use that term again. I’m calling it a love ritual, screw tradition. 

I was breaking tradition anyway. I was a whole ass alpha who skipped the beta step. I skipped being a werewolf until now. Were my chakras not aligned until then? Was all the pain I went through over the last few months the reason that everything finally clicked. Maybe Deaton would know something? Apparently he was a druid. I would ask Derek but in all the time we spent together, I hadn’t gotten his phone number and going to his house was a bust since he usually wasn’t there. The only there was his scent and that scent trailed off into the woods and was usually washed away. 

In the meantime, Stiles needed to be addressed. The night I was taken was also the night that Lydia was attacked and bitten by Peter. Stiles had a very unfortunate ride with Peter that night to tie it all together. It was easy to say we both had a rough couple days. 

At Beacon Hills memorial, I eventually found him outside of Lydia’s room. He was sleeping in a hospital chair (leave it to Stiles to sleep anywhere), a get well soon balloon tied to the arm of it. I stood in front of him, watching him sleep. He also smelled like he had been covering up his body odor with body spray and it did not mix well. 

“No, just like that… You first.” He mumbled in his sleep. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. McCall look over with an exasperated look. 

“Please tell me you’re here to pick him up.” 

I inhaled sharply and gave her an apologetic smile, “I don’t think I could get him to leave if I dragged him out of here.” She sighed, going back to sorting files in a cabinet. My attention turned to Lydia’s door where it appeared that her father had enough of his daughter too. He gave me a polite smile before it dropped at Stiles. 

Mr. Martin motioned for Melissa to come over and pointed towards the sleeping teen, “He’s been here all night.”

“He’s been here all weekend.” Melissa corrected him.

“He’s just really worried about Lydia.” To give him some credit, Stiles was very caring. It's just that I’m sure the Martins didn’t want this teenage boy that wasn’t Lydia’s boyfriend outside of her room for an entire weekend.

“You’re dirty.” Stiles grinned in his sleep as a woman walked by. 

“Pig.” I swatted the balloon into his face. He swatted it away and groaned as he woke up. He stood up and stretched. He opened his eyes wide, taking in the situation. 

“Stiles, why don’t you go get something from the vending machine. Lydia’s gonna be fine without you outside her door for five minutes.” I dug around in my pocket and pulled out a dollar. He took it and nodded, walking like a newborn giraffe towards the vending machine. 

“Is he…?” Mr. Martin pointed towards his head. I narrowed my eyes at him. 

“Is he what? A caring young man who has been sitting outside your daughter’s door this entire weekend to make sure whoever did this to her doesn’t come back? You would have known that he was here the whole weekend if you had been here the whole weekend. Stiles is smart, and caring, and has undiagnosed ADD, but he would never let anything hurt your daughter-” My very passionate rant was cut off by a loud crashing noise. Stiles was probably the cause. I sighed, “He is a good kid.” 

We heard coughing coming from inside Lydia’s room, followed by her screaming. Her scream was loud and pierced my ears. I pressed my hands to my ears to try and block it out. Stiles came zooming in, opening the door and rushing inside followed by Mrs. McCall.

“Lydia!” Stiles called. She was nowhere to be found inside the room. Water from  the shower was leaking all over the floor.

“What was that?” Melissa asked as we all looked at the shower door. 

“We’re about to find out.” Stiles opened the door. The shower was still running and overflowing the tub, but no sign of the red head. Mrs. McCall turned off the shower. All of our attention was brought to the open window. 

-

Uncle Noah, Mrs. McCall, and Mr. Martin were walking ahead of us in the corridor of the hospital. A deputy walked with Stiles and I as we tried to catch up. 

“Naked?” Uncle Noah questioned, “As in nude?”

“I’m pretty sure that means the same thing but yeah. As far as we know, she left here, clothing optional.” Mrs. McCall was pretty sassy when it came down to it. 

“Alright you check the whole hospital?”

“Every last corner." 

"Find anything suspicious?”

Shook her head, “Nothing, she just took off.”

Dad turned to the deputy, “Alright, let’s get an APB out on a sixteen year old redhead.” The deputy nodded and left.

Dad turned back to Melissa and Mr. Martin, “Any other descriptors?”

"She’s five foot three, green eyes, fair skin, and her hair is actually strawberry blonde.“ Stiles piped in. 

"Is that right?” Uncle Noah put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah.” Bad answer. Uncle Noah grabbed Stiles by the back of his neck, bring him away from Mrs. McCall and Mr. Martin. He let go of him when we were out of sight. 

“What the Hell are you still doing here?”

“Um…Providing moral support..”

“A huh, and how about you provide your ass back home? Where you should be.”

“I can do that too.”

“Yeah.” Dad pushed Stiles forward and looked pointedly towards me, “You make sure he gets there.” 

“Aye, aye, Captain.” I followed behind Stiles. On our way out, we passed a broken bending machine.

“How the f-” He grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the machine.

“Really?”

“It wouldn’t give my Reese’s.” I chuckled and shook my head. 

In the parking lot, we found Scott in the passenger seat of Roscoe. Stiles, who had at some point stashed Lydia’s nightgown in his jacket, handed the cloth to Scott and I so we could get her scent.

“This is the one she was just wearing?” Stiles nodded, “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt her.” Scott promised, “Not again.”

Stiles sighed, “Okay, just shove the thing in your face and find her.” We all piled into the Jeep. Stiles turned it on and shouted when we saw Allison in the headlights.

“What are you doing here?” Scott asked as she came up to the passenger window, “Someone’s gonna see us.”

“I don’t care, she’s my best friend and we need to find her before they do.”

“I can find her before the cops can.”

“How about before my father does?”

“He knows?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah.” She nodded, “I just saw him and three other guys leave my house in two SUVs.”

Scott turned back to us, “Search party.”

“More like a hunting party.”

“Get in.” Scott opened his door, letting Allison sit in the middle. Feeling just the slightest bit awkward, I excused myself, opting to follow them in my own vehicle. 

-

Scott’s nose led us to the one place I hadn’t wanted to go to so quickly after everything had happened.  The Hale house. As they walked towards the house, I grabbed the back of Stiles' coat. There was still an eerie energy, plus I could still smell Peter’s burning corpse from wherever Derek had buried it. From the air, I could tell that he wasn’t here which was incredibly frustrating since I wanted to talk to him about the fact that I was an alpha. 

“It’s okay.” He reassured me, “Between you and Scott we’re plenty protected.” I blew out some air. 

“Yeah, if I knew how to fight, I could be the world champion.”

“She came here?” Stiles turned back to Scott, “You’re sure?”

“This is where the scent leads.”

Stiles looked over the remains of the Hale House, “But has Lydia ever been here?”

“Not with me.” Allison and Scott walked together, slowly coming closer to the house. Her scent was here but it was faint. If she was here, she’s long gone now. 

I looked towards the house, feeling a sort of pull towards it. I walked all the way to the porch, placing my palm on one of the support beams. A shot of an electric spark raced through my body, my eyes squeezing shut.

And when I opened them time had turned back six years. Flames bloomed from the cellar, little hands reaching up through the windows to the cool air outside. The sheer heat of the flames causes windows to combust. I heard the cries of children, screaming for their mothers and fathers. Screaming to find one another, screaming as the fire burned at their skins and clothes. All of them scrambling to make it out alive. Their cries for help were met by the roar of their house collapsing around them. I was inside, two parents together panicking. 

“LAURA!” The father cried. 

“DEREK! CORA!” The mother choked out. That’s when a beam from the ceiling fell, crushing them to the floor, burning the souls.

But the scene changed, it wasn’t the Hale house, it was mine. Mom and Dad were still inside, running upstairs to my room to search for me. 

“(Y/N)! WHERE ARE YOU?!” My mom shouted, an arm over her face to try to keep the smoke out of her lungs. I never told them I left, they thought I was home asleep. 

“(Y/N)! ANSWER ME!” He broke through my door, not caring that both of his arms were badly burned. From outside I could see Michael standing there, looking up into my window, watching them scramble to find me when he had already taken me. That was when the roof collapsed, sending us all down onto the main floor. My parents fell through the floor in the dining room and into the basement. Where a structural beam fell from the roof before they could even realize they fell. 

“WATCH OUT!” I shouted. But they didn’t hear me, they didn’t move. They were crushed by the beam. Before I could even register that I watched the death of my parents, I yelped. Looking down at my ankles, fire seemed to dance around them like vines. I kicked them away, scrambling to stand up and make it to the door. It grabbed at my wrists and ankles trying to drag me down the hole into the basement where my parents lay. Besides me, Derek appeared. He seemed to be immune to the flames. 

“Derek! Help!” I reached out to him, being pulled to my knees and dragged towards the hole. 

“Are you with me or against me?” he asked. 

“What?” I asked, confused and scared, “Help me! Please!” He said nothing else, only turning and walking out of the house. 

“DEREK!” I screamed as I fell back. 

“(Y/N)!” Stiles shook my shoulder. 

I opened my eyes and stared at him. The fire was gone. I pulled my hand from the wood. 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked, keeping Allison close to him, “You started screaming.” 

“Uh, yeah…” I shook my head, “No, I can’t be here right now. I’m going home. Let me know if you find her.” I left them all behind, using my supernatural speed to make it to my car and then driving home before Stiles could stop me. 

What the hell was that? What did it mean? I witnessed the Hale fire like I had been there and then I watched my parents die. And why didn’t Derek help me? Why wouldn’t he have saved me? Saving me was his thing. Kind of. Lately, I’ve been on the pay-no-mind list in Derek’s book.

 Somehow, I am a werewolf. An alpha werewolf. And if Derek didn’t care about whether I needed to see him, then I guess… I’ll be saving myself won’t I?

-

“Alright let’s see…” I looked over the roster for the lacrosse team. It was one of the few morning practices and getting up this morning was a nightmare. Because of well…my nightmares. I couldn’t get that vision from the Hale house out of my head. It was freaking me out. 

“Isaac Lahey?” I asked, “I don’t recognize that name.” 

“Yeah, he did really well at try-outs but he’s real skittish.” Finstock nodded towards the locker room. I shrugged. I saw Stiles and Scott finally made it into the locker room. I set down the roster and walked towards the door. 

“Ah!” He stopped me, holding out the sleep mask. It was incredibly ugly but whatever Coach says - goes. 

When I, eventually, found my way over to them blindly, Stiles told us what he had heard over police radio about Kate Argent’s grave. Someone or something had desecrated it and took her liver. And because she was still missing and possibly a werewolf, all of it was pointed towards Lydia.

“She ate the liver?” Scott asked. 

Stiles scoffed, “No, I didn’t say she ate it… I just said it was missing. And, you know what? Even if she did, so what? It’s the most nutritious part of the body.” Stiles, like the love sick puppy he was, defended her honor.

“Stiles, defending her in this situation isn’t going to make her date you.” I shook my head.

"We don’t know that.” Stiles said, even though he didn’t sound entirely sure himself.

“I never ate anyone’s liver…” Scott added. 

“Yeah, right. ‘Cause, when it comes to Werewolves, you’re a real model of self-control…” He paused, “Actually, wait– hold on. You’re the test case for this, so we should be going over what happened to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, what was going through your mind when you were turning, you know? What were you drawn to?”

Scott shrugged, “Allison.”

“Okay, nothing else? Seriously?’

“Nothing else mattered. But, no, that’s good, though, right? 'Cause the night that Lydia was bitten, she was with you.”

“Yeah, but she was looking for Jackson.” Stiles said grimly. 

“LET’S GO!!” Coach’s voice boomed from his office, “I have an announcement. Gather round.” I made my way towards the voice to be at his side since that’s where the assistant Coach went. I heard lockers shutting and the shuffling of cleats. 

“Quicker! Danny, put on a shirt. Stilinski, that means you. Let’s go, gather ‘round.” When the shuffling stopped, Coach began his meeting.

“Police are asking for help on a missing child advisory. Sick girl, roaming around. Totally naked.” The team chuckled, but stopped soon after. The result of Coach’s eyes no doubt. 

“Now, it’s supposed to get under forty degrees tonight, I don’t know about you but the last time it was that cold and I was running around naked.” Where was he going with this?

Coach paused, “….I lost a testicle to exposure! Now, I don’t want the same thing happening to some innocent girl.” I looked vaguely in his direction.

“So, police are organizing a search party for tonight,” He stuck a piece of paper to the window of his office, “Sign up, find the missing girl, you get an automatic A in my class.” The guys cheered at the thought of passing economics. I followed Finstock as he went back into his office, pulling the blindfold off. 

“Really, Coach? You’re bribing them to find Lydia?”

He shrugged, "Bribe is such a strong word, I prefer forced motivation.” He leaned back in his chair, “Besides, I just told a gaggle of horny teenage boys that they will find a naked teenage girl and that they’ll get an A. It's a win-win for them.” 

“That’s not-” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lahey changing into his uniform. There were dark bruises all over his back. 

“Coach, have you noticed Isaac’s bruises?”

He gave me a confused look, “You do remember this is a contact sport, right?”

I shook my head, “No I mean, like if he weren’t at practice one day and the next he comes with a black eye, does that concern you?”

He shook his head, “Boys will be boys.” What an outdated concept. But something was going on with Isaac. Something terrible.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Derek’s voice rang through my head. Oh, now is when he decides to say anything to me? Some vague messages.

I must have had a strange look on my face because Coach spoke up, “You okay, (Y/N)?” 

“I’m fine.” 

-

Finstock had me stay throughout the day to help him prepare for the state championships that would be hosted at Beacon Hills. We had to make a player profile for each guy on the roster. I was about to grab Stiles' file when Coach asked me to go to the copy room and make more copies. It gave me a chance to stretch my legs and get out of the locker room that constantly smelled like BO.

I was roaming the halls, following the vague directions that Coach had given me. Two rights and a left. I had yet to turn left. This school was basically just a big circle. Around the next corner, Jackson appeared, pushing me into the lockers to get by me. 

“Hey-” I started to say, but he had already gone into the men’s bathroom.

I heard a distant knocking, “I’m fine, Danny, just go back to class.” I heard him say. This werewolf hearing was something else. 

“Just give me a second, okay?” No one had followed him into the bathroom. 

“I said give me a friggin’ second!……Derek?” Derek was there. Oh, he could make time to visit douche nose at school but I can’t get a…mind-message…back.

“You’re lookin’ a little pale there Jackson. You feeling okay?”

“Never better.” Jackson’s voice was trembling slightly. When focusing a little more, I could feel his heart racing.

“If something’s wrong, I need to know. You’re with me now.”

“Wait, with you? Me with-” Jackson chuckled, “You? What am I, your little pet? I mean, just because you gave me the bite doesn’t mean I’m part of your little wolf pack. Sorry, but to be honest, you don’t show outstanding leadership qualities.”

“Is that so?” Derek sounded amused. 

“Look, I’ve got my own agenda. Which doesn’t involve running around the woods at night, howling at the moon, with you and McCall, OK? So why don’t you just back the f-” Jackson was cut off, a crash followed. 

“What is it?” Jackson was panicking, “What’s happening?”

“Your body’s fighting the bite.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Jackson turned back, “What does it mean? What does it mean!?” The door to the bathroom opened and Derek came face to face with me. 

“So, you can’t make the time of day or night for me, but you can break into a high school and see Jackson?” He opened his mouth, “And don’t blame it on being a fugitive, okay? That got blamed on Kate weeks ago and you were exonerated. What the hell?” He looked around and then grabbed my arm, pulling me into a janitor’s closet. 

“You need to stay away from Isaac.” He said as soon as the door was closed. 

“Excuse you, he is one of my players. If I need to look into his home life, I have an obligation to if I believe there is abuse.”

“I’m handling it.” 

“Then he is being abused, now I have to go to the school board.” I pulled on the doorknob to open the door, but he kept it shut with his arm on the door. 

I sighed in frustration, “Ya know, you said that after the alpha thing was over we would talk and figure… Whatever it is we have out. But you’ve been actively avoiding me. You don’t get to act pissy with me, buddy.” I poked his chest. He huffed, pressing me up against the door. He pressed his forehead against mine so our eyes met. His eyes were blazing red, so I flashed my eyes back at him. 

“You forget, I’m just as strong and intimidating as you.” 

“I didn’t forget.” His face softened and the red left his eyes, “I’m sorry. I should be around. Especially since you’re just starting out.” I felt the tension leave my shoulders. 

“I really needed you. I’m scared that I’m going to turn on the full moon and kill Uncle Noah and Stiles because I can’t control it. You’re not supposed to go from human to alpha so quickly, there’s not time to know anything. I needed you there.” 

“I know you did-” 

“So where were you?” I pushed him away a little, “You said that if I called for you, you would come. I called, you didn’t show up. I looked for you in the woods for hours, trying to trace your scent but it would just disappear.” 

“Promise me you won’t do that again.” He said seriously, “Hunters are flocking here for the funeral.” 

“I was careful-”

“You can never be careful enough.” 

I shook my head, biting my lip, “What’s going on? I keep having nightmares about the fire and you. And you scare me.” 

Derek nodded, “Something’s coming. And we’re stronger as a two alpha pack.” 

I looked at him for a while, the pieces fitting together, “Is that where you’ve been? Making a pack?”

“That’s not all it is.” 

“Then what is it?!” I snapped, “Because I thought I was more important to you than that - keeping things from me. You told me that we could help each other after everything was figured out.” 

He blew out through his nose, “Tonight, I want you to meet me in the woods by your house. I’ll explain.” 

I shook my head, “Right, cause that went so well last time.” 

“You don’t have to be scared anymore, he’s gone.” He reached out, hesitantly holding my hand, “I made sure he could never, ever hurt you again.”

“You did.” I lightly ghosted my thumb over his knuckles. It was insane how calming his touch was. This morning I was pissed at the thought of him, but one small touch was enough to calm my nerves.

“I was trying to be mad at you.” I pouted at him. He chuckled and smiled.

“And now?” I will say this at least. His smile was contagious. He could be charming when he wanted. I wanted him to be able to smile and laugh and be happy. I wanted… I wanted that for us, whatever “us” was. 

I couldn’t help but smile at him, shaking my head, “I’m still mad, just less.” I poked his chest. He grabbed my hand and pulled my body against his. 

“Is there anything I can do about that?” He ran his hands over my back, squeezing my hips lightly. I hummed, thinking for a moment. 

“Why don’t you make me dinner? Romance me.” 

He shrugged, “Why not?” 

“Good. Just let me know when.” I winked, playfully pushing myself off his chest, walking back out into the hallway in the pursuit of the copy machine. 

-

On the drive home, I got a call from Stiles. I answered it, putting my phone on speaker.

“Hey Stiles, how was detention?” I said cheerfully. 

There was silence, “How’d you know about that?” 

“Word travels in the teacher’s lounge.” 

“Okay, Harris is psycho okay? Because he had to talk to my dad about Kate Argent, I get to be his punching bag now.”

“What a dick. I’m surprised he didn’t get arrested as an accessory after the fact.”

“Anyway, the reason I called is because it looks like the patriarch of the Argents has arrived. His name is Gerard, Scott says he sounds Scottish, bald, pasty, ya know.”

“Right….Okay, so I’m gonna make dinner. I’ll put some in the fridge for you and Uncle Noah. Since I know for a fact that you won’t be home in time.” I pulled into the driveway. 

“Why? Where are you going? You’re supposed to help us find Lydia.” 

I sighed, “I am aware. And I will, but I have a meeting tonight.” I turned off my car and took my phone off the speaker, putting it between my cheek and shoulder to hold it as I walked up and unlocked the door. 

“A meeting? You mean you’re meeting with Derek?” He sounded accusatory over the phone. 

“So what? I am an adult, if I want to meet with Derek, I will.” 

“I would prefer that you didn’t. He’s probably the Argent’s prime focus.”

“According to their code, Derek is not on their-” I thought about it, “Well, he’s on their radar, but he’s not on their hit list.” 

“Yeah well, I don’t think this new guy is like Chris. And I don’t want you to take a bullet for him.” 

I got into the house and closed the door, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what? Do you have a crush on him or something? You guys gonna make a litter?”

I looked at the phone in disgust, “That was way out of line, Stiles. I don’t think I care for you talking to me like that. After all the crap I’ve done for you.” 

“Like what? Treating me like a kid?” 

“You’re sixteen! You are a kid! I want you to be a normal sixteen year old, but instead you’re getting kidnapped by murderous psychos and throwing Molotov cocktails at said murderous psycho. The most stressful thing you should be worrying about is an economics exam.” I leaned against the counter, “You’re one of the only people I have left. I just don’t want to lose you.” 

“I can handle myself. I have for a long time.” I wanted to say that sarcasm to cope with his feelings was not handling it, but that would only make him more upset.

“Okay. I guess I’ll just stay out of your life then.” I hung up the phone as he tried to say something else. I just… had so much anger. How dare he say that? After everything we had been through together and I was the bad guy now? I stomped into the living room and grabbed a pillow from the couch, pressing it to my face and screaming into it. When I pulled my face away, I realized that in my anger I had grown claws and they had stabbed into the pillow. 

“Oh…” I inspected the damage, low and behold - ten puncture marks with fluff falling out, “Shit.” I set the pillow back down on the couch and flipped it so the undamaged side was out. I looked down at my hands, the claws were still out. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Just need to calm down. Everything’s fine. He’s stressed because Lydia’s missing and possibly a werewolf. And I have been stressed this whole… year basically. When I looked down at the hands again, the claws were gone. Okay, good, getting better at that. Just need to relax and wait until I can meet with Derek. 

- 

By the time I got out into the woods, Derek was already there, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. 

“Well, look who it is.” I grinned, “Mr. Fugitive himself.” 

He chuckled and shook his head, “In the flesh.” 

“Hmm, you would have hated that joke a couple weeks ago.” 

“I would hate it if Stiles said it.” He said. I nodded. 

“That’s fair.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and sighed, “He majorly pissed me off today.” He wrapped one arm around me and lifted my chin up to meet his eyes with his other hand. 

“What he said was out of line, like you said.” I gave him a confused look, because how would he know? But then I remembered. 

“Right. Connection thing. I’m sure that was a nice vision for you.” He sighed and rested his chin on the top of my head. 

“Yeah…. You should probably buy new pillows.”

“Oh we got jokes now?” I chuckled, then pulled away slightly, “Alright, tell me what’s going on.” Derek broke away. 

“So obviously hunter’s are everywhere, which is danger number one. The other thing is that Jackson’s body is rejecting the bite.” 

“That’s possible?” 

“I’m not sure, but there’s a major possibility that he’s going to die.” 

I stared at the ground, scratching my head, “Alright. This is already more complicated than last time.” Derek was about to say more when we both heard it. 

“You’re not Lydia…Wait!” It was far away, but I could hear it like he was next to me. 

“Scott.” We both said, running as fast as we could in that direction. There was another voice besides Scott. A heavy, scratchy breathing like someone was running. 

“Wait, stop!” Scott shouted as we got closer. Eventually we found him, he was about to run into a clearing where a scruffy looking man was up in a trap. A hunter’s trap. Derek grabbed Scott and pulled him behind a tree. Another scent was in the air. Gun powder, monkshood, steel. Hunters. 

“What are you doing? I can help him!” Scott shouted, struggling to get out of Derek’s hold.  

“They’re already here.” Derek said. 

“I can help him!” He shouted again. 

“Quiet!” Derek muttered. Scott looked back at me to see if I would help him. I gave him a sad look and shook my head. 

Soon we saw a group of men come down from the embankment just opposite of us, walking towards the struggling werewolf who was hung upside down by his feet. Chris Argent walked forward, not phased by the werewolf snapping his fangs at him. The new face in the crowd must have been Gerard, who Stiles described pretty well. This wasn’t going to end well. 

“Who are you?” Chris asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear.” The man pleaded.

You’re not from here, are you? Are you?!” He shouted.

“No. No, I came-I came looking for the Alpha. I heard he was here. That’s all.” I looked to see the look on Derek’s face, but he was all stone. 

“Look, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t hurt anyone. No one living. He wasn’t alive in the ambulance. He wasn’t, I swear.” This guy was living off dead remains, which meant that he was a desperate man. The type of werewolf they were looking for to blame for whoever dug up Kate and ate her liver.

“Gentlemen!” Gerard addressed the group, “Take a look at a rare sight!” He looked to Chris, “You wanna tell them what we’ve caught?”

“An Omega.”

“The lone wolf! Possibly kicked out of his own pack, or the survivor of a pack that was hunted down, maybe even murdered… and possibly alone by his own choice…” He paused, looking at the dangling man and chuckling, “Certainly not a wise choice… Because, as I am about to demonstrate” He turned back to the others, pulling a long sword from them,” An Omega rarely survives on his own.” Gerard swung the sword, slicing the man in half. I covered my mouth to hold back my gasp as we watched blood and organs spill from the man’s lower half. 

“Look. Look.” Derek said quietly, making sure Scott saw the brutal murder, “Look at them! You see what they do? This is why you need me– why we need each other. The only way to fight them is together.

“What are they doing?” Scott asked in a hushed voice. 

“Declaring war.”

Chris hadn’t looked at the crime, “We have a Code.”

“Not when they murder my daughter. No Code. Not anymore. From now on, these things are just bodies waiting to be cut in half. Are you listening?” He addressed the group, “Because I don’t care if they’re wounded and weak. Or seemingly harmless, begging for their life with the promise that they will never, ever hurt anyone. Or some desperate, lost soul with no idea what they’re getting into. We find them. We kill them. We kill them all.”

----------------

Read part 11 here!

Is this considered a slow burn fic since they haven’t kissed yet?

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[walkerwords]

“Tell Me a Story” Lydia & Negan

Summary: A curious Lydia asks Negan to tell her about the war as Alexandrians rebuild the community that Beta trampled with his horde.

Word Count: 3067

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Not Today” by Imagine Dragons

Note: While “Here’s Negan” hasn’t come out yet and we don’t know whether or not he speaks with Lydia, I needed to write this conversation between them. I love this relationship and I think Negan is the father figure that Lydia truly needs. 

----------

Alexandria was in shambles after Beta had led his horde through the safe zone. 

Negan, being one of the strongest members of the community, was asked to help with repairs. While he still never felt as if he was a member of the home he once tortured, he felt as if it was his duty to help rebuild the walls he also once burned down.

The residents were still uncomfortable around the former tyrant, but there was now a new understanding among Alexandrians after Negan had put his life on the line to kill the alpha of the Whisperers. 

Still, there was that aura of negativity that surrounded him and even silent backlash against those who would interact with him. Carol was facing some of it as she was the one to let the wolf out of his cage, but Carol was still Carol and that carried weight and respect that Negan no longer had.

Now, with Maggie back home and her and Glenn’s son in tow, everything that Negan had begun to build, including trust with people like Daryl, Carol, Gabriel, and even Aaron, was becoming irrelevant again.

As soon as he saw her at the rendezvous point after he and Daryl had finished off Beta, his heart had sunk well below his ribs. The new chapter in the Book of Negan had crumbled along with the rest of the neglected paperbacks in the new world. 

However, there were still those on his side. People like Judith, Gabriel, and especially, Lydia. While Lydia and Negan had their issues, there was a connection there that would not be so easily broken by a few glares or hushed whispers. 

Lydia had found a home in Alexandria just as others had when trying to escape the fears from outside the walls. When Daryl had brought her to Alexandria and she had met Negan, everything she thought about the Living had changed. She and Negan were similar in that people didn’t trust them and at times, people feared them. Lydia saw herself in Negan and he did as well.

The two of them were outsiders living within a community that would never fully trust them. However, no matter what the Alexandrians thought, there would always be those few people that they could rely on.

Lydia wandered through the dark streets of Alexandria. The walls were being repaired, the windmill too, and people seemed to be in higher spirits as the war had ended. Lydia still noticed the stares and occasional whispers about her, but those seemed to be coming from the people she didn’t know as well.

The people she saw as a family such as Daryl, Carol, Kelly, Aaron, Gabriel, and even Rosita, who remained kind to her, kept her spirits high. Then, of course, there was Negan, the one person she felt as if she could tell anything. 

Walking towards where Negan was staying, Lydia absently twirled her staff, trying to perfect the movements Henry once showed her before he died. Moving past the Grimes house, she noticed Judith sitting on the steps with her baby brother, keeping him warm with a blanket as she read to him. Daryl was around too, walking with Dog and speaking to Rosita who carried Coco in her arms. 

As Lydia got closer to Negan’s, she noticed Maggie near the vegetable patch, scanning the food stores. Lydia was introduced to the woman a day before, but she didn’t know how to speak to her, let alone act around her. Lydia had heard stories of the previous leader of Hilltop, just as she had heard stories about Ezekiel and Carol who ran the Kingdom for years. 

She knew that Negan had killed Maggie’s husband and that that incident led to the war between the allied communities and Negan’s soldiers who were known as The Saviors. Nobody liked to talk about those years of bloodshed, but after seeing how Maggie Rhee glared at the man who had saved Lydia on multiple occasions, she had had enough and needed answers.

Moving past the woman, Lydia continued towards the small house Negan was staying in. She found him easily as he was sitting on the steps of the house, drinking from a glass jar. Even from down the road, Lydia could tell it wasn’t water. 

“Can’t sleep?” Lydia asked as she approached. Negan looked up at her, giving her a small smile. 

“Not sure any of us have ever gotten a decent night’s sleep in a while, kid,” he said. Lydia couldn’t argue with that. Climbing the steps, she settled down next to him and then held out her hand. Negan narrowed his eyes at her. “How old are you again?”

“I have no idea,” Lydia said and it was true. Time was confusing now. She figured she was around sixteen, but she couldn’t be sure. 

“Fine, but only if you give me that,” Negan said, pointing to the weapon at her side. Lydia handed over her staff and he stowed it behind him before handing her the glass jar. “Go easy,” he said after glancing around, most likely looking for Daryl who would frown upon the teenager drinking moonshine.

Lydia took a small sip of the alcohol, cringing at the flavor before handing it back. She coughed as it burned her throat and Negan laughed. “I don’t think I like that,” Lydia said, wiping her mouth. 

“Good,” Negan said. “This stuff will kill ya.”

“Why drink it then?” Lydia asked. 

“Because it’s the only thing that makes me feel anything right now,” he admitted, taking another sip. 

“This about Maggie?” she asked. Negan was thoughtful for a moment, weighing her words. 

“Some of it,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Apologize?” Lydia offered. 

“Trust me, she doesn’t want to hear those words come from my mouth. The second I even begin, she’ll put an arrow through my eye.”

“It’s been a long time,” Lydia said. 

“It could be thirty years and she wouldn’t care,” Negan said with a sigh. “I get it though, I’d hate me too. I killed the man she loved as she watched. Maggie was pregnant as she watched me beat him to death, Lydia. I ain’t never going to ask her to forgive me.” 

“I would forgive you,” she said. 

“No, you wouldn’t,” Negan said quickly. “Do you forgive Alpha for killing Carol’s boy?” Lydia was silent and that gave him his answer. “Exactly.”

“Okay, so maybe I could never forgive her, but I may have been able to live with her if she had changed like you had,” Lydia posited. 

“You didn’t know me before now, kiddo,” he said. “I was...horrible, but there was still good in me even if it was buried deep. I don’t know if your mom had any of that in her.”

“If you had good in you back then, why did it take you so long to do something about it?” she asked. 

“That is the million-dollar question,” Negan said with another sip of the moonshine. “I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t. I was a power-hungry asshole who used fear to keep that power. Hell, I may still be that asshole.” 

“You’re not,” Lydia said. “You’re a good person.” Negan gave her a look that spoke louder than his usual snarky candor. “Okay, then you are a person who does good things,” she corrected and Negan nodded, accepting that change. “So, if you can’t apologize to her, what can you do?”

“I can keep out of her way and do everything I can to make sure that nobody hurts these people, especially that little boy of hers.”

“Daryl told me that he looks like his father,” Lydia said. 

“Why are you asking me about all this?” Negan asked, putting down the moonshine and turning towards her fully. Lydia almost looked ashamed in the low light from the camper lantern on the railing behind them.

“Tell me about the war between Alexandrians and the Saviors,” she said. 

“Why?”

“You know about my past,” Lydia rationalized. “I want to know about yours.”

“You want to know about the worst years of my life? That doesn’t seem fair,” Negan said. Lydia shrugged. 

“You met me during mine,” Lydia reminded him. “Come on, tell me something, anything.” Negan looked at her, then he looked around before sighing and leaning against the railing next to him. 

“You really want to know?” 

“I do,” she said. 

“Fine,” he said, running a hand over his stubble. “I’ll tell you about the day I met these people and then maybe you can finally see just who you are spending all your time with.”

Lydia frowned but gestured for him to go on. “I’m listening,” she said. With a heavy sign, Negan looked away from her and stared out at the sleeping community. 

“They attacked first,” Negan began, “though, I suppose that doesn’t matter anymore. Alexandria was in need of food and Hilltop was willing to help as long as they took care of a problem first. You see, Maggie or Tara, or Jesus didn’t always run Hilltop, it used to be this man named Gregory. He was… He was an idiot and not capable of leading a community. He was also a coward which made him easy to control.” 

“You had Hilltop giving you supplies,” Lydia guessed. 

“Right,” Negan said with a nod. “When Rick, Judith’s father, found out, he offered to take down the Saviors if it meant that Hilltop would share their resources. Problem was, Gregory gave them the wrong information. He sent Rick and his people to one of my outposts, not the main factory. They killed everyone in the satellite station, most while they were sleeping.” 

“Just like that? No warning?” Lydia asked. 

“Just like that,” Negan said, remembering the rage he had felt when Simon had told him what happened that night. “When I found out, I sent a group of my men to take out a few of theirs. Though it didn’t matter because your friend Daryl blew them up with an RPG.” Lydia’s brow raised at that, clearly surprised. “That was the last straw and so I had to do something.”

“The ambush,” Lydia said. 

“You know about that, huh?”

“Carol told me some, but not all,” she said. 

“Well, Carol wasn’t there,” Negan said. “Yes, it was an ambush. I set up roadblocks a lot like the ones I used to keep you all from leaving Hilltop when I was helping your mother. We corralled them and forced them into a clearing not too far from here. They were trying to get Maggie to Hilltop, I think there was something wrong with her baby.” 

“Herschel?” 

“Yeah,” Negan said, casting his eyes down. “I made them get on their knees and I threatened them. To be honest I didn’t think I was going to kill more than one of them, but I was on this...high and I couldn’t stop.” 

“What happened next?”

“I told Rick what was going to happen and then I killed a man named Abraham. He was close with Rosita, I think,” Negan said, remembering everything Gabriel had once told him about his victims. “It was brutal and bloody, but I couldn’t feel anything.” 

“Why do you think that is?”

“I couldn’t tell you, kid,” Negan said. “I have tried for so long to figure out why I was like that, but I don’t know.” 

“What happened next?”

“Daryl punched me in the face,” Negan said with a humorless laugh. 

“Seriously?” Negan nodded. 

“I had warned them not to move and when Daryl hit me, I lost it. That’s when I killed Glenn, Maggie’s husband. I beat him until his head was nothing but brains. Right fucking in front of his sick and pregnant wife,” Negan said as he let his eyes close. “When it was happening, I didn’t feel a thing. I didn’t realize what was happening, but afterwards… I knew what I had done and more importantly what I had done to her. The way she looked at me after that was as if she had already decided I was bound for Hell. Shit, I know I am, but I knew then that she wanted to be the one to send me there.”

“Why him? Why Glenn and not Daryl or the leader, Judith’s father?” Lydia asked, patient as ever. Negan thought about it for a moment thinking over everything that had happened in the last eight years or so, thinking about the way he approached scenarios. He always knew the “how”, but never the “why”?. The truth was, he never had an answer for any of it. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t think I cared enough to know, Lydia.” Negan finally turned to look at her and it took her a moment, but eventually saw the earnest look in his eyes. Negan was telling her the truth. However, that was never in doubt. It was rare when the man died, especially when it came to kids. 

“What about Carl?” she asked suddenly, realizing she wasn’t going to get an answer about Maggie’s husband. 

“Carl? How do you know about him?” Negan asked. 

“Daryl told me when I found one of his shirts in Michonne’s house,” Lydia explained. “He was her son?” 

“Stepson,” Negan clarified. “Sort of. I don’t know if Michonne and Rick ever made it official, but yes, he was Rick’s son and Judith’s older brother. Smart as hell, braver than anyone in this damn world. Carl cared about everything and more. He was someone you wanted to be around, you know? No matter the shit situation you were in, Carl fucking Grimes was there to look on the bright side,” Negan said with a small smile. 

“You cared about him,” Lydia said. It wasn’t a question. 

“I did,” Negan said with a frown. “That damn kid believed in me for some reason and I always threw it back in his face. Then it was too fucking late for me to do anything about it.”

“When did he die?” Lydia asked. 

“Right before the war ended.”

“How?” 

“Kid was saving Siddiq,” Negan said. “He was trying to help the Doc when he got bit. Carl didn’t tell anyone until it was too late, but he wrote letters to explain.” 

“He wrote one to you?” 

“He did, Michonne read it to me,” Negan said with a finality that didn’t have Lydia asking more questions about what the letter entailed. She figured it was something that would have to stay with Negan and Michonne alone. 

“Did you get to say goodbye?”

“No,” Negan said. “Rick told me he died the day after it happened. I spoke to him that night and he never told me he was bit.” 

“Seems unfair,” Lydia whispered. 

“Isn’t everything?” Negan asked. Lydia looked at him for a moment before scooting closer to him and leaning into his side. Negan didn’t hesitate to pull her closer to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. They were both quiet for a moment before Lydia had another question. 

“Do you think they would have liked me? Rick and Carl,” Lydia asked. 

“Yes,” Negan said firmly. “Rick would have loved you, Carl, too. Hell, Judith loves you.”

“You’re very protective of her,” Lydia noticed. 

“Yeah,” Negan said, rubbing Lydia’s arm, trying to reassure her in some way. 

“Why?”

“Because her brother asked me to,” Negan said simply. Lydia sat up then, looking at him with confusion. Negan, knowing she wanted more, continued. “Before he died, Carl and I spoke briefly. I had come to Alexandria to cause chaos and I met Judith. She was so small, unable to talk at the time. Carl didn’t want me around, but I think he knew I would never hurt her. Before his father came home, Carl asked me for something.” 

“What?”

“He said that no matter what happened between my people and his, he wanted my assurance that Judith would be safe. I told him I would die before something happened to that little girl. Anyone who hurts a kid deserves to die. When he died, I made a promise to myself that if she was ever in danger, I would do anything I could to keep her safe.” 

“Like when you saved her when the blizzard happened,” Lydia said, remembering the story Judith had told her. 

“I have always been a damn sucker,” Negan said, looking down at her. Lydia smiled as she leaned back into him. 

“I’m glad you are,” Lydia said. “Or else I’d be pretty dead right about now.”

“I ain’t gonna let anyone hurt you,” Negan promised. Lydia smiled at that as she sat with the man that had become like a father to her. 

“Do you think you and Maggie could ever be...decent?” Negan laughed at that, but it was more bitter than anything. 

“I don’t think we could ever be civil, Lydia,” Negan said. “What I did to her cannot be fixed with a few good deeds and an apology. Nobody here cares whether I live or day besides maybe Judith.” 

“And me,” Lydia corrected. 

“Yeah, and you,” Negan said with a small smile as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

Lydia and Negan sat there as the words from his story settled in her mind. Lydia had known a lot about what Negan was and what he had done, but hearing what he thought about it all had offered her a new understanding about the man. 

Regardless of what happened next, Lydia wasn’t going to turn her back on him. Negan had saved her life, more than once, and nothing would make her leave him behind. She knew that the council was still debating on what to do with Negan, but Lydia couldn’t think about that. He was the only person who she could fully rely on because he had met her at her lowest. 

Letting out a breath, Lydia let her eyes close as she listened to his breathing. Daryl had always spoken about a chosen family and now Lydia was sure that she had chosen Negan and nothing was going to separate them. Not Maggie, not the council, and definitely not the screwed up world that had tried to take them down but failed. 

They were stronger than all of it and together, they would prove it. 

TAGS: @thanossexual​ @felicisimor​ @yes-sir-hotchner​ @lucillethings​ @stark-dreams​ @huffledor-able541​ @please-help-this-little-bisexual​ 

#lydia twd #negan #negan fiction #negan fanfiction #10c #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #negan fanfiction twd #walkerwords

[tmbgareok]

Q&A: They Might Be Giants Aren’t Just for Kids and Still Aren’t the Proclaimers by Marc Spitz, Vanity Fair July 14, 2011

For almost 30 years, They Might Be Giants (John Flansburgh and John Linnell) have been releasing music that’s both snarky and sweet, morbid and whimsical, a little pop and a little avant-garde. Beginning in 2002, with the enhanced CD and book No!, they applied their sensibility to a trilogy of albums geared toward children. The shocking success of these (2005’s Here Come the ABCs went gold; 2008’s Here Come the 123s won a Grammy; 2009’s Here Comes Science was nominated) threatened to upstage everything else they did. The new album Join Us marks a return to their classic sound. While playful (the song “Cloisonne” features a singing raindrop), it is strictly for grown-ups. Here John Flansburgh (bespectacled John) discusses the band’s early years in Lower Manhattan, their struggle to win and keep casual fans, and why they’re not going to be walking 500 miles anytime soon. ___

Marc Spitz: They Might Be Giants came out of a downtown New York scene in the 80s that was very fashion friendly. And yet you weren’t embraced by that crowd in the same way as other bands were. It that because you were funny?

John Flansburgh: The thing about any scene is that it’s very hard to sum up for somebody who doesn’t know the scene. The constellations of things that are deemed to fit in or not fit in are just dictated by the people making the scene. We would play the Pyramid Club but we were considered the “rock band.” We were the nice boys who had the rock band. Half the acts that played the Pyramid Club were transvestites and they were also all on heroin so . . .

Marc Spitz: And you weren’t transvestites on heroin.

John Flansburgh: We weren’t transvestites on heroin. Even though we played with a drum machine. In the early days there was a lot more screaming in our shows. There was a histrionic quality to what we did. We started a couple of years after the No Wave movement, bands like DNA and Lydia Lunch. We were part of the first bunch of bands after that movement.

Marc Spitz: There were a couple of recent films about that period, one called Kill Your Idols and more recently, Blank City, which is about the cinema of the era. If you look at the commentators in both movies they’re still so put together. The hair and cheekbones thing. Like a New York City cartoon.

John Flansburgh: There was no mistaking what city you were in. And there was no end to the ambition of the people involved in it—people striving to be as original as they can possibly be. A lot of times people are just thinking about how to fit in. The East Village in the mid-80s was dominated by people thinking, What’s the most fucked-up thing I can do that won’t burn down the venue down. It was very much about phenomenon and causing an instant splash.

Marc Spitz: You and John (Linnell) have now built up a very successful career making records for children. My little niece loves them. Join Us opens with a lyric about a “town full of dicks” and contains a song titled “When Will You Die?” It seems almost reactionary, a signal that you’re back in adult-album mode. Are you?

John Flansburgh: I think we could have had a song on our first album called “When Will You Die?” Talking about death imagery in a very casual way is very They Might Be Giants.

Marc Spitz: Well this new one does seem like a classic TMBG record. Almost a reward for fans without children who may not listen to both sides of your output.

John Flansburgh: We just sort of institutionally split the two audiences from each other the second the kids’ stuff took off. We weren’t trying to figure out how to have a mixed career. Part of it was necessity. We were still playing clubs that might not have accommodations for people under 18. We had to tell people, “This is not for kids,” and be very clear about keeping them separate. If you like TMBG in general you’ll probably find pleasant things in the kids’ stuff. It’s very full-blooded. It’s not some reduced version of what we do.

Marc Spitz: I would imagine you could listen to both.

John Flansburgh: Conceivably you could. We don’t ask people to or expect people to.

Marc Spitz: Do you approach the songwriting differently?

John Flansburgh: That’s a very good question with a very complicated answer. I can tell you what the challenges are. Kids have the patience of a bug. You have to get their attention, and writing a song that’s immediate enough to capture their imagination is very demanding. It’s been difficult to turn away from [the children’s records]. Overnight we had a career as big as the one we’d been working on for 15 years. The truth of the matter is we’ve been chained to the kinder-rock desk for a couple of years now and we’re happy to get back to our roots. This is a kind of crucial time for us as a band - we really need to plant our freak flag in the ground and just be. We need to declare our independence a little bit, professionally. The kids’ stuff is interesting but it also has a sort of governor on it in terms of the kind of writing that we do. We love the things that we’ve made as a band.

Marc Spitz: They Might Be Giants is almost beyond a band. If someone says, “I’m a They Might Be Giants fan,” it often means something beyond one’s taste in music. Not that you don’t have any casual fans . . .

John Flansburgh: Our biggest professional aspiration is to have casual fans. If you’re doing something good, it shouldn’t be a cult thing. Being a cult implies some level of artistic failure. If it’s popular music you should enjoy it for what it is. When we played Bonnaroo, we had this little backstage area. We’re changing out of our sweaty clothes and there’s this knock at the door and a crazy drunk lady who somehow got backstage says, “I just gotta talk to you. I love you guys. I just gotta tell you I’ve been listening to your music my entire life. You’re my favorite band. I just wanna thank you. “500 Miles” got me through college.” And I’m like “500 Miles?” Then I realized she thought we were The Proclaimers.

___

Read the article on the Vanity Fair site here: https://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2011/07/they-might-be-giants-qa

#They Might Be Giants #Q@A #Flansburgh #Linnell #Vanity Fair #TMBG #Join Us

[freddieslater]

Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Allira | Allison Argent x Kira Yukimura (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @childofsquidward & @victoriagraeca

The kitchen is filled with the smell of baking dough and cinnamon. Both of which are slightly stuck to Allison's hands. Not that it seems to be stopping her.

"Did you put down any flour before you started rolling?" Kira inquires with innocent curiosity, trying her best not to laugh.

Allison pauses. She looks up at her, and her expression is answer enough. Apparently that step was left out of the recipe book that they've been following for the past hour.

"I've never baked before," Allison admits with a grimace, looking back down at her rolled-out dough. Some of it is definitely stuck to the rolling pin, too. "But, I figured, how hard could it be? I… underestimated just a little."

"Just a little," Kira agrees.

Allison laughs, and Kira lets herself now as well. She nudges Allison's side with her own, getting her to move over a step so that she can take control of the rolling pin and demonstrate. 

Pouring out a light dusting of flour across the countertop, she moves the dough and starts rolling it out. It's somewhat more successful. 

"How are you so good at this?" Allison asks, watching over her shoulder with a smile. 

She's so close that Kira can't actually see her smile, but she can hear it. In the soft shake of her voice. Close enough for it to send a shiver across her shoulders and down her spine. 

Keeping her cool—or what little she has of it, at least—she shrugs. "I baked a lot with my parents growing up."

"Wow," Allison says. "That's… that's really nice."

Kira turns her head to look at Allison, finding the smile barely there now. Her eyes are slightly unfocused, lost in a thought.

"I'm sorry," Kira says. "I didn't think—"

"No, no, it's fine," Allison quickly says, her smile growing. "Really. I just—you know, my childhood wasn't exactly the most normal. I never really did anything like that with my dad, or my mom. My, uh… my aunt did bake with me once, but I don't remember too much of it."

Kira's heart twists and she doesn't know what she could say to make her feel better. After all, her family is a touchy subject, especially her mom and her aunt. And by Allison's expression and the way she's picking at a piece of dough still clinging to her hand, she isn't too eager to talk about it right now.

Knocking into her gently, Kira gives her a small smile when she lifts her eyes to her. "I can help you. We have another couple hours to get these ready for the fair, so we have time."

"Are you sure? I'm pretty bad at this," Allison jokes, showing her hands as proof.

Kira just shakes her head and hands her the rolling pin. "Trust me. I'll even show you how to make a gingerbread reindeer."

Allison's eyes actually light up. "Okay, I trust you." 

Showing her what to do, Kira steps aside to let her try again. It goes a lot better this time. Allison swings the rolling pin in delight once they've got the second batch of cookies in the oven. 

Kira ducks out of its way. Allison hastily drops it back to her side with wide, apologetic eyes. 

"Sorry," she says with a sheepish smile. 

"It's okay," Kira laughs. "Come on, we still have a third batch to do. Snowmen or trees?"

Allison hums in thought. Kira tries to bite back a smile when she notices the patch of flour across her cheek. 

"Snowm—"

"You have—"

They both pause when the other speaks. Kira gestures towards Allison's face.

"You have flour. On your cheek."

Allison frowns and brings the back of her hand up to try and wipe it away. Except it's the wrong cheek. And there's also flour on the back of her hand. 

Laughing softly, Kira waves her hands and steps forward. "Here, let me just…"

She grabs the towel from the counter behind Allison. As she's gently dragging it along her cheek, Allison watches her. Kira can feel her quiet but sharp intake of breath. 

Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea, Kira's mind is chanting. Yet, for some reason, she ignores it. She chances a glance at Allison and immediately regrets it when her gaze locks with hers. 

"I, um…" Kira starts, then stops, swallows, then just stares because she's frozen to the spot now. 

Allison smiles. "Yeah," is all she says. Then she takes another quick breath in and switches route. "We should get working on that third batch. Before Lydia calls."

Kira nods, too quick, too keen to escape. She moves back and they start the process again. Kira can't help noticing how close they work away, side-by-side, or how Allison brushes her hand when reaching for something, even if it's really not that close to her hand. 

#teen wolf #twedit #twrarepair #twrarepairs #allira #allison x kira #kira x allison #allison argent #kira yukimura #twelve days of rarepairs #rowing the rarepair rowboat #myedits* #childofsquidward #victoriagraeca #soft girlfriends! #food cw

[generatedplot]

Spawn of the Nemeton

Chapter One: The Aura (pt. 1)

Pairings: eventual stiles x y/n

Warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, timeline is whack because of characters I wanted to be included so ignore that, 18+

Summary: With the Nemeton reactivated, what kinds of creatures will come crawling into Beacon Hills? Will the pack be ready? Let’s find out.

It’s the first day of school Junior year and, as expected, there’s a lot of new students. Scott and Stiles assume because of the Nemeton, but their naïve hope is that it’s just the natural influx of incoming freshman. There always seem to be more freshman than seniors which makes you wonder what happens to the students in between. Lydia‘s first class is biology which she took as an elective to boost her already perfect GPA, but also to help Malia. She’s organizing her notebooks in her locker chronologically when she feels a presence walk behind her. She pauses her filing and turns toward the reason, slowly scanning the faces of students only to be interrupted mid thought. “Lydia! Please tell me you brought a pencil because I totally blanked this morning.” Malia ran up, eyes filled with panic and books haphazardly cradled in her arms. Lydia smirked and rolled her eyes as she plopped a pen out of her locker. She closed her locker and turned to on her heels, “Come on, you spaz.” to which Malia rolled her eyes and laughed. Scott and Stiles shuffled towards them at their usual haste. “Hey guys, don’t forget to be on the lookout for any supernatural behavior.” Stiles whispered the reminder while looking over his shoulder, obviously paranoid. Malia wore her usual, confused look, “What does that even mean?” Lydia turned toward her, “It means if someone hulks out and tries to kill the teacher, make sure to write their name down.” Stiles squinted at her, “Ha ha, you know what I mean. Be on the lookout for fangs or eyes or anything a newbie werewolf might be having trouble controlling.” He used his index fingers to indicate fangs coming out of his face and hissed, making Malia laugh. Scott chimed in, “Technically, it could be anything. With the Nemeton reactivated, we shouldn’t just be looking for werewolves. We should be looking for anything odd or out of place. Lydia shrugged him off as she continued to class with Malia close behind, “Yeah yeah, we’ll let you know if we see Bruce Banner.” Scott smiled, but Stiles just rolled his eyes playfully. “Who?” Malia whispered quietly to Lydia who in response just shook her head, “Never mind.”

When they reached bio, Allison was already in her seat with books and pencils laid out, ready to be utilized. “Hey!” She wore her usual, perfect, dimpled smile that cheered up everyone around her. The girls responded ‘heys’ in unison. Malia leaned toward Allison to whisper, “Scott said don’t forget to be on the lookout for supernaturals.” Allison looked confused. “Yeah like they’re gonna hulk out in the middle of class on the first day of school.” Lydia eyes widened, “Right? That’s what I said!” They laughed it off as the teacher came in and began introducing herself while going over the syllabus. As the teacher was speaking, Lydia had that feeling of a presence just like the one she felt in the hallway. She looked around the room at all the faces. Some were familiar and others were new. She turned to Malia sitting behind her, but it seemed like she was looking for someone too. “Do you feel that?” Lydia whispered. “Ms. Martin?” Lydia snapped her head around to look at the teacher, “Yes! Sorry.” As she went back to highlighting the syllabus, only half paying attention. Malia quickly passed Lydia a note that read, “ Something is off,” making Lydia realize it wasn’t just a banshee thing. Malia and Lydia were both feeling a presence, but with so many people in the room, they couldn’t tell where it was coming from. They would need to get closer.

After class they rushed into the hallway quickly. “What the hell was that?” Malia asked in a hushed tone. “I have no idea, I just felt something like.. different? I don’t know how to describe it.” Allison chimed in, “Guys, I didn’t feel anything?” They both looked up at her, thinking. Malia leaned into Lydia and whispered, “It felt like desire.” This made Lydias eyes wide as she turned her head to look at Malia. She was shocked to hear her admit that, but she had to agree. Whatever it was, they were drawn to it, but Allison felt nothing. They quickly found Scott in the hallway and told him about their encounter in the classroom. Scott was stunned into shock trying to think of a creature capable of what the girls had described when Isaac ran up to them. “Something is wrong.” They all looked up at him awaiting him to continue. “What do you mean?” Scott asked, trying to make sure no one was listening. “I don’t know I was walking in the hall and I just felt.. I don’t know something. I tried to follow it, but I lost it outside a trigonometry class.” Scott’s head perked up, “Which one?” Isaac looked over his shoulder towards the door he remembered, “Uhh.. 207 I think, why?” They all looked expectedly at Scott. “That’s my next class.” They awaited his next words because they knew they needed a plan. “I’ll see if I feel something, but we don’t know anything yet. It could be nothing.” He tried to reassure them, but when three people he trusted dearly all agreed something was off, he knew it had to be true. He just hoped it was something containable or maybe even good. He didn’t know, but he hoped.

When he walked in the room, he felt it. It was almost overwhelming. He tried to stay alert of his surroundings as he scanned the faces in the class. He noticed a few other people doing the same, looking for it – the source of this feeling. All of a sudden he was sitting. He didn’t remember walking to the desk, much less getting his book out and opening it. He had absentmindedly done all this which made him freak out a little. He was still casing the room when he felt it again, but much stronger. It was close. No, it was next to him. He had sat down next to the thing drawing him. It was.. a girl? He didn’t understand what was going on. She had long curly y/c/h, big y/c/e, and a sweet, innocent face. He was stunned at the feeling he was getting just from looking at her. It was like looking at the sun, but without the pain. Sure, she was beautiful, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the reason he couldn’t stop staring at her. “Mr. McCall?” It was the teacher. He knew that, but he still couldn’t stop looking at her. He couldn’t. Now everyone was looking at him.. including her. This helped him snap into reality once again. “What?” He looked up at the teacher, still confused and beginning to blush a little. “I think you mean ma’am?” The teacher crossed her arms, probably feeling disrespected at this point. “Yes! ..Ma’am.. I’m sorry.” He repositioned himself to face forward and put his forearms flat on his desk trying to focus on the book.. hell, on anything besides her as the teacher continued. He stared at his syllabus as the teacher went on, but he still felt the same. He still felt drawn to look at her, to talk to her, to touch her – WOAH. Wait. Stop. He’s with Allison. He loves Allison, what is he doing? No.. what is she doing? He wanted to get up and leave. The thoughts were penetrating his brain, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. If he did, he’d be too far from her. Too far from this feeling which was almost.. euphoric. He wanted to be near her. He needed to be near her. What was happening? His own thoughts were uncontrollable and had scared him enough, “Excuse me.” He stated aloud, at no one in particular, as he forced himself up. He grabbed his book and papers off the desk and hurried out of the class with all eyes on him. The teacher, somewhat stunned, continued the lesson. He ran out into the hallway and shoved his hands into his locker door. Not enough to break it, but enough to shake the lock which made a loud clunk on the hard metal door. He unlocked his locker, shoved his book in there and then shoved his head into it. He didn’t know what was going on, but being out of the room made it better. He still felt it, but not as much. His thoughts were spinning and he wondered if the girls had felt the feeling this strongly. And then it was back. The feeling was drowning him again and he could hear her footsteps. He knew it was her because the closer the steps got, the more intense the feeling became. He jerked his head out of his locker to face her. At his quick motion, she jumped back, scared and cautious at the stranger. “Sorry.” He said almost instinctively. He was staring again, but to be fair where else was he supposed to look. She spoke softly, “are you alright?” Oh, god.. even her voice was alluring. He felt the vibrations of her voice through his body, the feeling intensifying even more, if that was even possible. “Yes, yeah I just think I was in the wrong class.” He nodded trying to reassure his shaky words. She tilted her head to the side and looked him up and down like she was observing him. Like she knew he was lying. She stepped closer and he straightened up and held his breath afraid to be that close to her again. She was kind, but assured when she asked, “what are you?” His eyes widened and a knot formed in his stomach. “Uhh, what?” He tried his best to look confused, but it was definitely coming off more scared. She moved closer so she could speak lower, “I’m guessing.. a werewolf?” She tilted her head but gave a small smile. A voice came from him, “yes.”

CH 1: THE AURA PT. 2 UP

#stiles x y/n #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #teen wolf fic #teen wolf #lydia martin #malia hale

[stargazerholland]

Home - Peter Parker

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary : You’re left to do an English assignment that catches you off guard, but Peter may or may not have been your inspiration.

Warnings: Cussing (let me know if you find any, though!)

Words: 3.2 k

What is home? The message was sprawled across the board as your English teacher, Mr. Gilloway stared at the class, eyebrows scrunched up and his hooked nose crinkled. The soft light bounced off of his bald head. 

“Since you all like to complain about wanting to go home, you might as well write down what is home. You can either write it as a descriptive piece, because I’d live to know why you want to go so badly,” he said sarcastically, “Or whatever comes to mind. It’s due in a month, so Flash, you better not complain about not having completed your work. You will also have to present in front of the class just so I can hear your wonderful voices grace my god-awful days. Class dismissed.” 

You had no idea as to what is home to you, as you’ve never felt at home wherever you go. It seemed as though you never stuck to one place. A million thoughts ran through your mind thinking of a solution as to how you were going to come up with an answer, when you meet up with your best friends, Ned Leeds and Peter Parker near the school’s overcrowded parking lot.

“Hey, Y/N! Are you ok? You look a bit.. distracted.” Ned stated, his voice laced with concern. Ned always looked out for you, right after Peter. The duo had welcomed you into their “super secret that no other soul should ever be told cult” with open arms, when you had first moved to Queens. Overtime, the three of you were inseparable, the school knowing you as the three who would be sitting in the quiet, snug corner of the cafeteria fighting over who was the actual hero in Star Wars. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just thrown ‘off the rails’, if that’s even a saying,” You created air quotes to try to emphasize it, “it’s just Mr. Gilloway being a pain in the ass with his ‘deep and meaningful projects’ that are supposed to bring us to a realization of some unknown idea to our ‘uneducated minds’, whatever he means.” The Polynesian boy smiled, his pudgy cheeks showing off the rosiness of his almond skin tone.

“Peter and I both told you not to take AP English and look at where it got you, huh,” he taunted, as you looked to see both of them give their signature ‘I told you so’ faces, with their eyebrows raised and an amused smile, “just goes to show that we’re always right.” 

With a roll of your eyes, you moved on to go home, 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks mom. I’m gonna head out now. See you in chem tomorrow.” Before you left to catch the subway, Peter grabbed your wrist and said, 

“Wanna come over? May misses you and we’d love to have you for the evening.”

You quickly nodded in affirmation and sent your mom a text to let her know about your whereabouts. The ride to his place was the same as always, sharing the headphones to listen to AC/DC, you complaining about Flash being your lab partner, and Peter sharing the previous night’s events during his patrol. Everything felt right at the moment, as if he was your safety blanket. Peter had the ability to radiate this sense of comfort even if you were across the room from him. 

The subway finally stopped at your final destination, and you soon found yourself in the small, cozy apartment. It was the same as always, the soft grey throw blanket draped over the back of the worn out brown couch, and the smell of charred bread in the air. It was simple, just like the family. You sent a simple wave to Peter’s Aunt May and followed Peter to his room to start on your Chemistry homework. 

Hours later, there were papers filled with math calculations and Chemistry formulas scattering the small room, as Peter was munching on some cheese-flavored potato chips. 

“Did you get seventeen moles of copper nitrate for number 8?” Peter inquired, causing you to let out a groan.

“It’s seventeen? I got twenty-nine. Pete, I’m a hopeless teenager who doesn’t understand a single thing about this right now,” You heard a chuckle across from you and looked up, only to find Peter staring at you, something was different about his expression, but you still threw you eraser at him. Peter simply replied, 

“Instead of complaining, you could have just asked. Lemme see what’s wrong… Ah,” he went on to explain the confusing lesson, however everything he said became sets of useless words as you were focusing on what was happening to you. Your entire body filled with warmth, while your heart was beating feverishly, like you’d just ran a marathon. The constant feeling of elevation in your stomach was overbearing, it felt like the spark on a tungsten before it reached the gunpowder for fireworks. It was different to what authors wrote in their stories, it was so much more than what you’d imagine, but it didn’t feel like love. The constant overcame your mind until you heard Peter call your name,  

“Y/N, Y/N, are you still alive? May’s calling us for dinner, it’s Thai Food Thursday.” For the rest of the night, you could feel yourself being distant and distracted from the conversation, all thanks to Peter. 

A week later, you still hadn’t made any progress on your English paper, which made you dread English class even more than you had before. Your past made it harder to even get an understanding of what home even was when all you could think of was your father. 

Your father was always distant from you and your mother, acting like a guest at a bed and breakfast where he was only there for the night. Some weeks, he’d have to leave for a business trip, not coming back for a few weeks, or at least you thought that until you found him at a city nearby while being on a class field trip the fifth grade. He was with a familiar woman who you’d known growing up, Aunt Lydia, your mother’s younger sister. It turned out that your father had become infatuated with her in the duration of his first marriage, eventually starting a new family with Aunt Lydia and being much happier with her. The news spread like wildfire in a forest, eventually getting to your mother last. It broke you to know that your father would rather spend his days with some other kids than with you, another woman instead of your mother. After a short 2 weeks, the two of you had packed your bags and moved to Queens to forget the past, making it seem as if everything you knew from before was now supposed to be thrown out of a window. The project was no use when now all you could think of was a cold space where tension was intermingled in the air, and pain stained into the deepest threads of the couch pillows when you thought of home. 

The library was almost completely empty, which was usual considering that the people of New York had better things to do than spend their time at the library, except for you, Peter, and now Ned. It was your annual reader’s binge night, where you’d all spend the afternoon reading a book from start to end, and then go out for a sub at the small, family-owned deli from around the corner. It was a tradition, and allowed you to bask in each other’s presence without the hassle of having to talk. The sounds of iced coffee being sipped and the constant whoosh of pages could be heard throughout the day. After the author had infuriated you enough with their cliche-filled sci-fi novel, you looked up to break the silence, until the sight of the room stopped you. More specifically, Peter. The sunlight shining in through the gigantic windows had illuminated the small features of his fair, pale face, like the freckles that were sprinkled all over his nose and cheeks just as the course sugar on sugar cookies. His chestnut brown hair became an array of colors as the copper undertones shining through, as he was concentrating on the book before him. Peter’s state of peace made you feel safe, as if nothing bad was going to happen to you. The time flew by as if it were like seconds as you continued to take in his image, until you felt a twinge on the side of your head, looking to your side to find a plastic straw on the ground.

“Y/N, you can stare at Peter after finishing the book. Now hurry up or else Mr. Delmar’s is gonna close up shop before we even finish!” Ned exclaimed as he smirked at your actions. Peter softly chuckled as you flipped off Ned, before all three of you went back to the book. While you mindlessly flipped pages, all that you could ponder was the same weird feeling that you felt at Peter’s house. It was almost as if you belonged there, as if you weren’t an outcast who had came out of nowhere. There was something about the feelings you had that you couldn’t comprehend completely, but it was becoming more and more prominent to you each day. Whatever the universe is trying to tell me, it sure is fucking me over, you thought, just as you saw your best friends close their books. Peter saw your expression, it was evident that you were deep in thought, and asked, 

“You okay, Y/N?” To which you simply replied in the most New York way possible, 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Wanna go grabba sub now?”

You picked up the group’s sandwiches and headed over when you heard Ned and Peter talking about you, 

“I don’t know, Ned, Y/N is hard to be around when she can’t even take a hint,” You stopped dead in your tracks, like gravity was pulling you down and you weren’t able to move your feet. It felt like the day at the school field trip, everything you once knew was fabricated and far from what you thought your friendship was. 

“Peter, you’re going to have to tell her someday. It’s hurting you and it's probably gonna hurt her too in the future,” you took your chance and walked in before any more damage could be done to your friendship. 

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” You said as you sat down. The two shook their heads, muttering words that you couldn’t make out, and started a new conversation. Throughout the rest of the day, you couldn’t help but wonder about what you’d done wrong, guilt and fear flowing through your veins as if your blood had been replaced with it. 

You  invited Peter over the next day for dinner to repay him for when you ate at his house last time, and in hopes to try to mend whatever tension Peter was feeling. The dingy apartment that you’d been living in for the past 5 years was usually dull and quiet, your mom still hadn’t comprehended how her sister could betray her and you were left trying to feel the same way as she did when you were younger, when your family wasn’t broken. While eating the burnt ends of your chicken parm, the English project was still running on your mind. Of course Peter knew you were thinking about it, so naturally, he had to ask how the English assignment was coming along. 

“I can’t connect with anyone or anything that relates to my home. I am genuinely convinced that literally everyone hates me, and soon I’ll be living alone with my three cats in a studio apartment!” You complained as your arms flew up in exaggeration. Peter, on the other hand, seemed frustrated, with his eyes in annoyance and his knuckles turning white from clenching them so hard. Peter cried,

“Well, maybe if you would just open up and try to let more people into your life, then you wouldn’t be here right now!” At this point, the tension you tried to get rid of was now a thick fog that couldn’t be seen through. 

“That’s impossible, Peter! You, out of all people, know it’s hard for me to get close with someone, when practically no one finds me bearable,” you looked at him with anger, “not even you.” Peter was taken aback, 

“How did you hear that?” 

“So it was true,” you scoffed as you felt the wet trail of plump tears run down your cheeks, “gee, thanks a lot, Pete.” He stood up, intimidating you, as he boomed,

“Well, yeah, it is. All you ever do is push away anyone whoever tries to get close to you. You’ve built this thick barrier around everyone and it stupid. Grow up and stop acting like a four year-old, it's annoying,” and immediately walked out the tiny apartment’s door. 

You sunk down in your chair, the tears flowing faster and add onto the pain-ridden apartment. There goes someone else I love, you pondered, I love you, Peter, more than I’ve loved anyone else. 

Your English assignment was now due in a week and a half's worth of time and you’d barely had an outline or a single idea as to what you wanted to write about. For multiple nights, you would just sit in front of your grey, busted laptop and stare at the blank document until you’d figured it was now time to sleep. Multiple sentences that were once on the document soon disappeared by the click of a button immediately after.

As sleep-deprived teenagers rushed to leave the room, you went up to Mr. Gilloway, intimidated by the hunch on his back that formed every time he was scrolling down the New York Times about another political outburst from the Senator. It wasn’t that Mr. Gilloway was bad in person, it was just that he tended to be very unfiltered. All it took was one glance from him and you knew that you were going to take in the bitter and harshful words about not working on the assignment. But you took the leap anyway, and took all the courage you had in you to ask,

“Mr. Gilloway, I don’t know what to write for the assignment. I keep thinking about it, but nothing is coming to mind and I really have no clue as to what home is.” Squeezing you eyes, you braced for the string of words that were meaningless to him.  

“Well, what was it like for you to be at home? Anyone particular who comes to mind? Or perhaps a memory that just replays over and over in your head? Remember, Y/N that home is not a definitive object, you can make it anything you want. It could be the simplest idea, or something over the top, but that is what it means to you. I have full trust in you to go with your guts and write wha’ is home to you,” Mr. Gilloway gently replied. His response was out of character compared to who he really was. It was unrecognizable, sympathy and gentleness was the last thing that would come across anyone’s mind when they thought of Mr. Gilloway. Unable to form words, you nodded your head, only to hear, “Now go, I need to catch up on what our jackass of a Senator we have right now.” 

It wasn’t until you got onto your laptop once again when you knew what to write about. You finally had an idea. 

It was finally the day of the presentation and your nerves got the best of you. The past week was more muted, with evenings spent writing the English assignment, and the daytime spent studying in the library in hopes to avoid Peter. It was also the most emotionally draining week, knowing you couldn’t just go up and tell him how you really felt about him. 

Y/N, it’s your turn. And Flash, puh-LEASE keep the flirting for someplace else, my classroom is not a ‘Singles Mingle’,” Mr. Gilloway said. The voice at the back of your head kept telling you don’t mess up, don’t mess up, don’t mess up. The anxiety of sharing something so intimate with a group of bored teenagers was nerve wracking, so much so that your hands were quivering. 

“Home is an abstract idea, and to most people, it is their place to go to sleep, eat, and repeat. In my entire life, I'd never felt like I was at home until just recently when I came to know how I know I am at home. Home is a blend of emotions, where there are multiple feelings every time you’re there, A sense of belonging, where no matter how different, broken, or mismanaged  a person is, they still know that the very spot will always let them be themselves. Home is where a person feels comfort and safety, where they know that they will be supported and consoled through all the times you’ve been through. A sense of adoration that lingers in the air, making a person feel loved for who they are. The idea that a person knows who they are when they’re at this place, or with this person, makes us realize that this very place is our home. My home is with someone who I’ve known for a while, and even a glance into their brown eyes makes me feel complete. As they always say, home is where the heart lies.” 

You looked around the room to see blank stares and an unusual smile from Mr. Gilloway, but it was relieving to feel the overbearing weight of not knowing yourself being lifted off your shoulders. 

Once class had ended, you heard your name being called by none other than Peter. 

“Was your speech about me?” Peter had a look of desperation and hope, “I feel like home to you?” How’d he listen? You thought, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  

“I asked Mr. Gilloway,” Peter had read your mind, “Y/N, I only said I couldn’t bear you because I’m so deeply in love with you, but you never see that. It’s kind of hard to be friendzoned all the time, y’know?” 

The moment you had awaited all along finally came in the least expected way, nor was it how everyone else described it to be. There were no fireworks in the background but instead, it was just as if the world had stopped around you. 

“I love you too, Peter,” you whispered. 

“So is it true?” With a simple nod and a small smile, you said, 

“Yeah, it is about you, Peter.” A soft smile creeps up his face as he pulls you into his arms. It felt right, as if your body was perfectly molded to fit into his embrace. You decided to take the risk and pulled away, placing your hands over his pillowy cheeks, and pulled him towards you. You placed your lips on his, they were soft and smooth, with a hint of vanilla from the chapstick you made him use after seeing how rough they were a few months back. Peter kissed back, trying to empty all the love and adoration he had kept inside of him. 

You couldn’t tell what the future held for you two, but you made a vow, right then and there that you would protect him with your entire heart, help him after his patrol’s and night, and most importantly, keep him in your heart for the rest of your life. 

This was your home, right here with Peter. 

A/N: Hi! I hope you liked this piece, I’ve had a a writer’s block for almost 2 years now, so to write this was a bit of a struggle, but it’s all good! Feel free to send over any requests or criticism. I also have to give an honorary mention to @wazzupmrstark​! Her INCREDIBLE works gave me a bit of a push and inspo to get back to writing, so thank you so so much Kaili! (i’ll stop annoying you guys, byee :) )

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #imagine peter parker #mcu #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfics #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fanfic #spiderman imagines #spiderman x reader #stargazerhollandworks #imagine spiderman #spiderman #peter parker oneshot #spiderman one shot #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man fanfic #spider-man imagines